


Inquisitor's Mask

by flamewing80



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 84,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamewing80/pseuds/flamewing80
Summary: The Inquisition has disbanded. Mahvir, the former Inquisitor, leaves his friends behind and sets out to stop Solas. Little do his old companions know, the elf they followed holds a secret just as dark and ancient as the one Solas did. The world titters on the edge of war and destruction. One fights for the past and the other for the future.





	1. Final Farewell

A cold breeze flew up from the mountain to the balcony. The hallow sleeve flapped against Mahvir’s side, his gaze locked on the distant scar marking where the breach had once swirled through the clouds. 

The threat which had brought all of them together was two years defeated. The Inquisition was no longer needed. Today marked the final day any of them would spend in Skyhold. 

“Is something on your mind?” the elegant Nevarran accent sounded behind Mahvir. 

“Afternoon, Cassandra.” Mahvir turned to her. “It’s going to be harder to find Solas with all of us splitting up,” he mused. “That was all I was thinking about.” 

“Well, we’ll figure it out.” Cassandra stepped to stand beside him. Her gaze also locked on the scar in the sky. “We always do.” 

The wisp of flickering green could barely be seen through the layers of clouds. 

“Did Varric give you a copy of his latest book?” Cassandra asked after a long silence between them. 

Mahvir chuckled. “I believe he wanted you to get it and read the book first.” 

“But it is about us,” Cassandra stated. “I thought he would have made certain to give you copy as well.” 

“I’ve only read a few of his books,” Mahvir pointed out. “You’re more a fan of his work than I, Cassandra.” 

Cassandra flushed a little and cleared her throat. 

“There you are, my dear.” 

“Enchantress Vivienne.” Cassandra turned to the Enchantress. The two looked at each other. 

“It is a shame you two hide up here while a lovely soiree progresses below.” 

Cassandra snorted. 

Mahvir chuckled. “It’s hardly a soiree, Vivienne, more a farewell for old friends.” 

“True, especially with the way Sera is eating,” Cassandra agreed with slight disgust. 

Mahvir crossed his near empty chambers to the desk there. He pulled out a bottle of wine from one of the drawers then took out three glasses. He held up the wine. 

“I hope that is the best from Antiva, darling.” Vivienne seated herself on the couch, the movement as elegant as ever. 

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping any other.” Mahvir bowed his head to her. He poured the dark red wine into a glass for Vivienne. “Cassandra?” He lifted the bottle. 

The seeker eyed the bottle. “Isn’t there wine in the main hall.” 

“My dear seeker, how can you compare such a delicacy to what Iron Bull brought?” 

“Perhaps it is a difference in taste,” Mahvir teased Cassandra and Vivienne. 

Vivienne looked at him, both her eyebrows raised. “My dear Inquisitor, I have seen you drink what Iron Bull thinks is good. You only pretended to like it.” 

Mahvir coughed and picked up her glass. “Yes, well, after the first taste I believe my taste buds were numb to it.” 

“A bad brew tends to do that,” stated the enchantress as she accepted her glass from Mavhir. “Thank you, darling.” She took a sip of the glass and closed her eyes as if to savior it. “I can always count on you to find the best Antivan wines.” 

A soft laugh came from Mahvir. “Though I doubt Josephine was too pleased when I used some of the few funds we had left to buy this.” 

“Ah, she will after she has a taste of it.” Vivienne lowered her glass. Her gaze now intent on Mahvir. “What are your plans now?” 

“We are going to look for people Solas doesn’t know,” Cassandra stated. 

“That is far from what I meant.” Vivienne gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I doubt the Inquisitor will be accompanying you to rebuild the seekers or me for rebuilding the circle.” 

Mahvir settled himself behind his desk. He poured his own glass of wine. “I plan on traveling then returning to my clan for a bit. There are a few within the clan I’ve missed over the past few years.” He let out a long breath. “Though, I doubt I will remain long.” 

“It would be wise to take a few still loyal to you with you, my dear.” 

Mahvir chuckled. “I’m no longer the Inquisitor, Madam Vivienne.” 

“None the less, the dangers still remain. You can’t afford to be lax, my dear.” 

The door closed below. “My, what’s this, I come looking for the Inquisitor and find a small party happening here without me.” Dorian appeared. 

“Sorry, Dorian, I should have considered how much we would all miss your presences,” Mahvir teased. He poured the new magister a glass. 

“I know, how can you stand not having me around, Inquisitor?” 

“We managed somehow,” Cassandra stated in dry tones. 

“Dorian, dear, now you’re a real magister, I hope you don’t—”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.” Dorian crossed the room and took a glass of wine. 

“My, you don’t even know what I was going to say.” Vivienne hid her smile behind her hand. 

Dorian gave Vivienne an even look then whispered to Mahvir, “Most likely some taunt about my homeland.”

“Most likely,” Mahvir agreed then cleared his throat. 

“My dear Inquisitor, I do hope you’re not falling under his sway.” 

Cassandra sighed. 

Mahvir smiled and took a sip of his wine instead of replying. In the end, he would miss every one of his companions, advisors, and the people who had aided in the Inquisition. Yet, he had known this day would come. It was best to savior the company of his closest friends before leaving. For, he would never again see them as he was now. Their next meeting, they might not even be able to recognize him as the former Inquisitor, let alone as their friend. 

“All this merry gathering is missing is Bull and the others,” Dorian stated as he settled himself in a chair beside Mahvir’s desk. 

“I take it he and Sera are in a drinking contest?” Mahvir asked. 

“Yes, with that dribble they call good.” 

“You couldn’t stop drinking it, if I recall,” Vivienne stated. 

“The taste was so strange I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if the next drink would be just as bad as the first.” 

“Well, you had best not degrade this fine wine.” Vivienne took another sip of her wine. 

“I know good wine,” Dorian retorted with elegance. 

Mahvir leaned back in his seat, enjoying the sharp banter between the two mages. 

Cassandra let out a sharp sigh. “I believe I will return to the party.” She strode towards the steps. “Inquisitor, when you’re ready you should join the others.” Her gaze traveled over the two mages. 

“Thank you, Cassandra.” 

The seeker nodded once more and set off down the steps. 

“My, did we just scare the seeker away.” 

“More like you did,” Vivienne stated. 

Mahvir chuckled. 

“ _When are we leaving this dreadful place_?” A voice whispered through Mahvir’s mind annoyed. 

“ _Soon, Deceit._ ” 

“ _Good, I want my own body back and no more ache without a wing… hand, arm?_ ” A soft snap sounded through him. “ _Besides I hate taking on all your pain so you can play the role of a normal elf._ ” She was a demon of deceit so it was unclear if she meant what she said or not. 

“You had best remember your promise to come visit me in Tevinter,” Dorian pulled Mahvir from his internal conversation. 

“What could he possibly want with a land of sharks,” Vivienne interjected. “The new circle will be far more civilized.” 

Mahvir smiled. “I promise, I will visit the both of you.” 

“Yes, it had best be me first,” Dorian stated. “I can’t imagine you depriving yourself of my presence for long.” 

“How ever will he manage?” Vivienne teased. 

Mahvir finished his glass. “We should return to the party.” He lowered the empty glass to the desk before he recorked the bottle. 

“A shame we must leave such a fine drink.” 

“Do you honestly want Sera to drink it all, Enchantress?” Dorian asked. 

“It is simply a shame.” She stirred the rest of her drink by moving the glass before she finished the last of it. 

Mahvir replaced the bottle in the desk before he stood and followed the two down the tower back to the main hall where the party was in full swing. 

By the time he reached the hall, Sera was passed out on the floor and Iron Bull was roaring with laughter. 

“You found him, _Kadan_ , about time.” He wiped his arm across his face. “Come on, Inquisitor, there will be nothing left if you don’t get to feasting.” 

Mahvir eyed the food. “I’m fine, Bull, I ate before going upstairs.” 

Iron Bull snorted. “I’ve seen what you eat, Inquisitor.” He lifted a leg and bit into it. 

“I see you won the drinking competition with Sera.” Mahvir crossed over to their table, careful of the friend passed out there. 

Blackwall smiled. “Come now, Inquisitor, did you think Bull would lose.” 

“Never doubted.” Mahvir settled himself into a free seat at the table with the two warriors and passed out rouge. Varric was seated at the other end of the table deep in conversation with Dagna and Harret. From bits of the conversation it sounded like they were discussing Dagna’s and Harret’s shop in Denerim. 

“Hey, Inquisitor,” Dagna looked over at Mahvir. “You need to stop by now that the Inquisition has been disbanded. I might have a little something for you if it’s in a month or so.” She grinned, eyes sparkling with excitement and her normal enthusiastic energy. 

“Thank you, Dagna.” Mahvir returned her smile. “I look forward to seeing your shop for the first time.” 

“ _Yeah, like you’re ever going to see it,_ ” Deceit muttered in his mind. 

Dagna beamed. 

“It will be nice to see you every now again,” Harret added. 

“And don’t forget you now have an estate in Kirkwall,” Varric added. 

“How can I?” Mahvir teased. “You point it out every chance you get.” Mahvir looked to Blackwall. “I would go to Anderfels, but somehow I doubt the Grey Wardens would be so welcoming.” 

Blackwall grinned. “They’d be for you, Inquisitor. But where are you going to find the time to visit all of us?” 

Mahvir laughed. “Now there’s the trick.” 

“We should have a reunion every few years to catch up,” Bull stated. He pulled Dorian towards him. “It would force you out of the Imperium, Kadan.” 

Dorian smiled. “One can hope.” 

The night passed with all of them talking one last time. It seemed all too short for Mahvir. He was soon mounting the steps towards his chambers for the very last time. 

Mahvir got up to the room and moved to the desk. He pulled a tattered bag from one of the drawers. Mahvir touched the bag. It appeared flat; yet, could carry anything without ever gaining bulk. 

Mahvir placed his armor into the bag. It didn’t have any effect on the bag and the armor vanished within. He placed one of his daggers on his waist before slinging the bag over his shoulder. He had to leave tonight. 

The light of the moons glittered off the crystal Dorian had given him. It rested on the desk. For a moment Mahvir just looked at the crystal. 

“ _Leave it,_ ” Deceit snapped in his mind.

Mahvir ignored her and picked up the crystal. He wanted to keep one promise to them even if he could never keep the others he had made to visit them. 

Deceit let out a clicking hiss. “ _Fine, let’s not get out of here._ ” 

“ _I get. You’re tired of sharing my body._ ” Mahvir moved to the balcony he looked out over the mountains. 

The lights below shimmered against the growing night. It was time to leave then, before his people fell further to Solas’s plan. In order to counter Fen’Harel, Mahvir couldn’t remain as the Inquisitor or the person those he cared about here knew on sight. It was time to leave. 

A small breath escaped him. Mahvir turned from the balcony. There was no leaving a note, no explaining why he had left in the middle of the night; no nothing. The only one he could speak with again was Dorian. 

Lies and deceit, that was all the past few years had been. A grand manipulation. 

Mahvir started down the steps. The cool night wrapped around him as he exited the keep. None of the guards noticed him as he slipped through the shadows, across the bridge, and out onto the mountainside. 

Mahvir paused only once the gate closed behind him. He turned to look one last time at Skyhold. “Farewell, my friends, and forgive me,” he whispered. Then, he turned and walked into the deepening night.


	2. Missing

*~ _Cassandra_ ~*

The morning was quiet. Too quiet. It felt as if something was missing without the sound of metal on wood or against metal. The old drills Cullen used to run in the courtyard. Cassandra looked out over the yard, her mind locked on the drills she had seen there though, the space had also been devoted to healing.

Cassandra closed her eyes a little. The Inquisitor was an extremely kind hearted man. A very peculiar elf as well. While he was Dalish, he respected the Chantry and the Maker far more than Cassandra had ever expected any Dalish to. He knew more about human culture and very random obscure facts she had never expected him to know. 

She shook her head to dislodge these thoughts. Her gaze moved to the early morning sun before movement caught her eye. Varric was crossing the lower courtyard with his advisor. From the sounds of it, the two were arguing. Varric dropped his bag near the gate. 

Cassandra moved down the rest of the steps. Her own pack hidden under her shield. 

“I’m not leaving until the Inquisitor is here. We’re heading to Kirkwall together,” the dwarf snapped. He seemed very disgruntled at his advisor. 

Cassandra gave a soft snort at this. Though, she did agree with him. She had no intensions of heading out until she spoke one last time with Mahvir as well. There was no telling when she would next be able to speak with the man face to face, especially over matters relating to Solas. 

Dorian moved down to join them. He wasn’t carrying any of his bags, rather his servant from the Imperium was. “Has anyone seen our dear Inquisitor?” the magister asked. 

“Na, I’ve not seen boss since last night, _kadan_ ,” Iron Bull was only a step behind Dorian. 

Dorian stroked his mustache. “Odd, normally he’s the first awake out of all of us. I remember that time he scared Solas half to death by being in the library before dawn and dropping a book right next to where Solas slept.” Dorian chuckled at this. 

“Scared you as well,” Cassandra reminded the mage. 

“Ah, yes, I had believed I was alone in the library that morning.” 

Though, Cassandra admitted it was extremely odd Mahvir hadn’t been in the courtyard first this morning. The man did tend to be up before dawn. He tended to either watch the sun rise over the mountains from the ramparts or watch the keep as it woke. 

“I’m going to see if he’s speaking with Vivienne.” Cassandra started back up the steps to where Vivienne would be packing the last of her belongings. 

Among the others of the inner group, Mahvir spent most of his time speaking with Vivienne. Cassandra had once gathered they were talking about the circle and another time about the Chantry and the role it took in the world. It was odd though that Mahvir would even be interested in the circle let alone the chantry as he was Dalish and not a mage. Though, odd always did sum up the man. 

“I’ll come with you.” Dorian followed her up the steps. 

Cassandra grumbled under her breath. Just what she needed, Dorian to tag along. She had enough of the man during uncovering the Qunari plot. He had replaced Solas in the normal grouping Mahvir took with him. If the banter between Solas and Vivienne had been bad, it was nothing when compared with the jabs Vivienne and Dorian snapped back and forth. 

Sure enough, Vivienne was near the balcony she had claimed. The last of her belongs were being packed by a few of the servants. The enchantress was staring out over the hall, her eyes locked on the Inquisitor’s throne. 

“Enchantress Vivienne,” Cassandra greeted the mage, “is Mahvir here?” 

Vivienne turned to them. “No, my dear seeker. I assumed he was in the courtyard.” 

“We just came from there,” Cassandra informed the enchantress. “Mahvir wasn’t there.” 

“It’s odd because the man is always awake so early,” Dorian added. “I thought for certain he would be waiting on us.” The magister turned and started for the stairs. “He must still be asleep after last’s night party.” 

“That’s so unlike him.” Vivienne fell in beside Cassandra as she followed Dorian down the steps and back into the man hall. 

Dorian led the way across the hall and up the flights of steps towards the Inquisitor’s room. “Mahvir?” he called. 

There was no response. 

Dorian knocked sharply. The door opened, showing it hadn’t been closed all the way the night before. 

“Odd.” Vivienne frowned. 

“After you, Cassandra.” Dorian gave her one of his “winning” smiles. 

Cassandra huffed. The man was being irritating. Though, she agreed with Vivienne, the door should have been closed. 

Cassandra crossed into the room. Unease crept through her. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. There was nothing to worry about. The room was empty save for one raven perched on the desk. Its dark beak shifted through the papers which had been left there from before the Exalted Council. 

Vivienne strode across the room and waved at the raven. “Shoo!” Vivienne snapped at the bird. 

The raven looked at her. Its red eyes gleamed in the light of early morning. It snapped its beak before returning to the papers. 

Cassandra ignored the odd bird and looked at the bed. As always, it was made and appeared as if no one slept there. She moved over to the ladder in the room and climbed it. A few of the servants said Mahvir had a habit of sleeping up there. The space was empty. 

Cassandra slid back down. She checked the other room. No sign of him there either. When she returned to the main room, it was to see Vivienne still at Mahvir’s desk. She had pulled out the bottle from last night. The smallest of frowns was on her face. 

The raven was still there as well. It had pulled a few papers from the stack. 

Cassandra moved to the desk. She blinked at the documents. They were the ones she had helped draw up the other day on plans to help stop Solas. The raven hopped around the documents and it lifted them in its beak. 

“Hey!” Cassandra snagged the documents from the bird. 

It let out a caw of rage. Sharp talons bit into her hand. 

“These aren’t for you.” Cassandra managed to draw her hand back with the documents. 

The raven snapped its beak at her, feathers fluffed in rage. 

“That is an extremely odd bird.” Dorian moved over to the desk. “Off with you.” He shooed the bird like Vivienne had. 

The raven regarded Dorian for a moment. It then glared at Cassandra, snapped its beak, and jabbed a talon at the documents almost like it was demanding her to hand them over. 

“Is it one of Leliana’s birds?” Vivienne let out a small breath. She moved away as if the question didn’t matter, still holding the bottle of wine. “He’s not here. Did either of you check the library?” 

“On the way to see if he was with you,” Dorian replied. “And earlier. I was the only one there.” 

“What about the undercroft?” The sound of Vivienne starting down the steps followed. 

Cassandra looked away from the bird and moved after them. The sound of wings filled the air. Cassandra was just in time to see the raven take off. A familiar item clasped in its claws. It was Mahvir’s toolkit. She hadn’t even noticed it on the desk. 

“Hey!” Cassandra leapt at the raven. 

The raven let out an angry caw and flew out onto the balcony. It dove and vanished towards the front of keep. 

“What’s wrong, my dear?” Vivienne asked. 

“That bird just stole Mahvir’s toolkit,” Cassandra growled. 

“You mean the one he used to make carvings for kids with?” Dorian asked. 

“What other one does he have?” Cassandra turned on the magister. 

Dorian scowled. He moved back to the stairs. “I’m checking the undercroft.” 

Damn bird. Cassandra shot a nasty look after where the raven had vanished. Then, she followed the two mages. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Mahvir they’d let a raven steal his toolkit. 

The morning was spent by the time Cassandra, Dorian, and Vivienne returned to the lower courtyard to see if Mahvir had turned up and was waiting for them there. He wasn’t. The others from the inner circle were all there now. 

“I heard you lot went to find Mahvir,” Blackwall said in way of greeting to them. His dark eyes took in the fact he wasn’t there. He frowned. “No luck then?” 

“None,” Cassandra confirmed. 

“It’s rather odd for him to just up and vanish,” Dorian stated. 

“I’d say,” Varric agreed.

“He left already.” 

Cassandra turned to see Cole had just joined them. He blinked at them from under the brim of his hat. 

“What do you mean ‘he left,’ weirdie?” Sera demanded. 

“He left late last night,” Cole repeated. “I woke, feeling great pain and followed a little way. It was him, the Inquisitor. He was in pain, heart aching. But, I couldn’t tell more. It’s hard to hear now,” the boy said. 

“Why would the boss just up and leave after saying he’d say goodbye to us in the morning?” Iron Bull demanded. 

Cole blinked and shrugged. “I only know he was in pain when he left. Heart heavy with an old pain. It was hard to hear. It’s always hard to hear his pain, buried under another voice, annoyed at me when I try.” 

“What? You’re making less sense than usual, kid.” Varric stepped up to the spirit. 

“Never mind the demon,” Vivienne stated. “We should find him.” 

“Did you try the crystal you gave him, _kadan_?” Iron Bull asked. 

“No.” Dorian’s eyes brightened and he pulled out the crystal.

*~ _Mahvir_ ~*

Water echoed around the cave. Mahvir dropped his bag to the ground and looked around. The cave didn’t go deep so there was no fear of Darkspawn rising to attack him. He glanced at the ceiling.

“ _Any spiders_?” Deceit shivered in his mind. 

“ _No_ ,” Mahvir replied smoothly to her. He let out a long breath, remembering how she had made it so the others in the Inquisition believed he was deathly afraid of spiders. It was Deceit’s fear, not his. What Mahvir feared was something far worse than anything living. 

“ _Hey, spiders are frightening_ ,” Deceit snapped at him. “ _They’re so, so_ ,” she shivered again, trailing off.

“ _Yes, yes, I know as you’ve recounted it every time we see one_.” Mahvir stepped further into the cave. He placed all his weight on his left leg. He would miss this part of being the Inquisitor. How easy it was to breath and place weight on his left leg. Most of all, he would miss those he had come to call friend. Yet, he couldn’t stop Solas as the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor couldn’t unify his People, only those of other races who didn’t want to see this world fall. 

“ _Are you ready yet_?” Deceit demanded. “ _I’m tired of sharing a body already_.” 

“All right, all right,” Mahvir muttered aloud. 

Agony tore through Mahvir. Mahvir’s legs gave out and he collapsed to the freezing stone. Bone snapped. Fire raced through his body. A scream tore from his lips then faded, replaced by the sound of a raven’s scream of agony. A white raven collapsed on the ground. Blood dripped from one of her wings. Blue eyes shone with pain. 

Fire raced through Mahvir’s body stronger than before. It echoed through time, curling around his bone, ripping his muscle, and searing his flesh. His fingers curled against frozen stone. Blood trailed at the ends of his renewed left hand. The scarred flesh glistened. 

Sensations crashed down on Mahvir. Images raced over his eyes, taste washed over his tongue until it blurred to muck in his mouth. His ears rang with sound. Hands burned with touch. 

Mahvir took in a deep breath. The frozen air burned his lungs. His chest tightened with each new breath he took. The images and sensations dulled. 

He was him again. 

“Mahvir?” a voice called in the distance. It echoed through time to him. 

Mahvir took a struggled breath. 

“Mahvir?” 

He forced himself up. His arms shook with the effort, his body weak once more. The crystal Dorian had given him glowed near to his dropped bag. 

Mahvir reached from the crystal, trying to even his breathing. A futile effort in the cold of cave. His right hand wrapped around the crystal. A burn scar was now visible over his hand. Mahvir lifted the crystal. It felt far heavier in his hand than it had before. 

“I’m here, Dorian,” Mahvir spoke in as clear a voice he could manage. 

“Weirdie said you left this morning!” Sera’s voice shouted over the crystal. 

Pain stabbed Mahvir’s heart. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t stay,” he stated. 

“We were going to travel to Kirkwall together,” Varric stated. 

“I needed to leave right away,” Mahvir explained. “Something’s come up.” 

“If it’s in your clan, you could have waited until the morning, my dear,” Vivienne pointed out. “You worried all of us.” 

“It wasn’t.” Mahvir could see them through his second vision, all of them gathering around the crystal Dorian held. The friends of the Inquisitor. Not his. The Inquisitor’s. 

“That’s stupid,” Sera snorted. 

“Look, dear,” Vivienne started. “I am going to have everyone get together in a year’s time. You had best remember to come.” 

“Ah, I will.” Another lie. It was becoming difficult to maintain his voice at an even level. His breathing strained further. 

“You’d better be in Kirkwall when I get there,” Varric stated, sounding a little annoyed at Mahvir. 

“Look, I have to go,” Mahvir stated. He lowered the crystal and slipped it into the bag beside him. Mahvir leaned against the wall. 

He wasn’t even going to be heading for Kirkwall at all. The clan would have to wait. He closed his eyes, letting the images of the future pass over his vision. Solas’s people would be moving towards the Exalted Plains. That was where Mahvir needed to go. A temple of Dirthamen was there, the upper levels picked clean, but the first steps to stopping Solas from repeating the past lay there. As were a few of his people who might be willing to join him. So, that was where Mahvir needed to go. 

“That hurt!” Deceit cawed. 

Mahvir kept his eyes closed; yet, he could see the raven as if they were open. She straightened and shook herself, white feathers fluffed and stained with blood. “It had better have been worth it, Dirthy.” 

“It was,” he whispered. His mind flashed back to those he had served with over the past few years. “It was.” Pain filled his heart. He was alone. He was forever alone. 

A soft click sounded. A black raven had dropped bundle on top of Mahvir’s bag. 

“My thanks, Fear. I can’t believe I forgot those.” Mahvir opened his eyes and lifted his toolkit. “Cassandra stopped you from getting the plans, then?” 

“And he has to ask,” Fear snapped. He glared at Mahvir. “You already have the answer. Don’t ask questions for the sake of hearing yourself talk. It’s annoying.” 

Mahvir gave the raven a small smile. “Apologies, Fear.” He tucked the toolkit into his bag as well. Then Mahvir pulled out several tattered layers of clothes. He pulled them on over the clothing he had been wearing. The black robes fell around him in many tattered layers. It was warmer than just the clothing he had been wearing when he left the keep. 

He tugged on gloves and flexed his fingers. His left hand ached with the memory of pain. His arm and hand had returned as if they had never left his body. They hadn’t in reality. The body which had held the anchor had been a form created from the fusion of his own body and Deceit’s. It had been the only way the anchor would ever have attached to him in the first place. 

Mahvir turned his hand. The burn scar lacing his fingers, hand, and wrists could been seen through the holes in the warn gloves. He stretched his fingers again, feeling the scarred flesh pull and resist the movement. The familiar feeling now almost foreign from the years spent with a normal enough hand. 

He let out a low breath and made to stand. Pain lanced through his left leg before he had finished standing, echoing to him from the future. Mahvir returned to the ground. He pulled out a staff from the bag. 

Right. He no longer had two good legs. Mahvir grabbed his bag and pulled himself to his feet with the aid of the staff. 

“Let’s go, you two.” He looked at the ravens. The only companions allowed him for now. “We have a dread wolf to stop.” 

“Finally!” Fear launched himself into the air and landed on Mahvir’s shoulder. 

Deceit settled herself on the top of Mahvir’s staff. “We should just let Solas destroy this world. The old one was far more interesting.” 

“Imagine the fear it would bring.” Fear snapped his beak. 

Mahvir ignored them both and limped out of the cave into the cold day beyond. He would stop Solas. No matter what, he would protect this world and make up for the pain he had caused in his past, the lives he had destroyed. It was all he could do. The only reason in the cursed, eternal life Mahvir held.

*~ _The Past_ ~*

*~ _Before the Conclave_ ~*

Rain beat against the _aravels_ , streaming off them as a waterfall. Mahvir stood in the slight shelter of a tree. Even this did little to hinder the down pour. The storm had blown in from the sea the night before. He had woken moments before the first drops struck him from an increasing ache which pulsed through his left leg and the left side of his body.

The clan slept through the rain. All but him that was. Mahvir’s eyes locked onto the _hahren’s aravel_. Theon seemed to have been woken by the rain judging by the soft candle light coming from his _aravel_. 

Mahvir moved towards the _aravel_ , he placed his weight on his staff with each step he took. He paused and looked towards another _aravel_. A bird had just landed on the rim. A moment later, it vanished into the _aravel_. 

Rain poured off Mahvir’s hood as he watched the keeper’s aravel. The air felt thick with far more than the humidity of the rain. His eyes narrowed. Something was stirring on the horizon. Sure enough, Deshanna stepped from her _aravel_. She bolted across the camp towards Theon’s but stopped when her eyes locked onto Mahvir. 

“Mahvir!” she gestured for him to follow her before she finished crossing to Theon’s aravel. She knocked. “ _Hahren_ , it’s me and Mahvir!” 

“Come in,” Theon voice sounded from within the aravel. 

Deshanna moved into the _aravel_ first and held the door open for Mahvir. A small breath escaped him. Steps. He took hold of the door frame with his right hand. His staff was placed on the step as he used both it and the _aravel_ to pull himself into the space. Water trailed after him. 

“ _Ir abelas, Hahren_ Theon,” Mahvir apologized, speaking respectfully to the clan’s eldest member. 

Theon looked at him, both of his thin, white, wispy eyebrows raised at this. “It’s just Theon to you, _ma falon_.” He gray eyes softened. “Don’t worry about the water. It’s part of living on the move like we do.” The old elf stood, a fur wrapped around his shoulders. “To what do you I owe this visit to, Keeper,” – Theon bowed his to Deshanna; then to Mahvir – “Toymaker?” He addressed Mahvir by the nickname or “honorary” title the children had given him long ago. 

“I am curious about this myself.” Mahvir gave Deshanna a small smile and gestured for her to tell them what was going on. 

“You’re both aware I sent a few of the clan to the closest city in order to gather news and trade for supply.” 

“Yes.” Theon settled himself back on his bed. He wrapped his fur tighter around his thin shoulders. “I take it something is happening within the human cities?” 

Deshanna nodded. “The Divine called a conclave and is gathering the mage and templar leaders to find a peaceful solution to their war.” Her gaze turned troubled. 

“Hmm.” Mahvir frowned. “It’s a smart move. Both groups respect the Chantry, especially the Divine.” 

“The outcome of those talks will affect even us Dalish and this is what worries me.” Deshanna looked at Mahvir. Her gaze flickered back to Theon. “I was thinking of sending either my First or one of our best hunters to the Conclave in order to report back to us what happens there. I would rather be ready in case the templars came after us as well or even the mages or Chantry. Our clan needs to be ready no matter the outcome.” 

Mahvir looked at Theon to see his oldest friend’s lips pulled into a thoughtful frown. “How long until Divine’s Conclave takes place?” 

“Just enough time to decide on who goes and allow for them to travel to the Frostback Mountains where it’s to be held.” 

Theon nodded. “I agree the outcome of the talks will affect the People and even the clans which choose to wander the Free Marches. Perhaps especially us given the events which took place in Kirkwall.” Theon turned his gaze on Mahvir. “What are your thoughts on this matter, Shartan?” Theon dropped Mahvir’s chosen name for the one Mahvir had held over ten centuries ago. 

“I’m not a member of Lavellan,” Mahvir pointed out. 

Theon gave a sharp laugh at this while Deshanna snorted. “You’ve been an honorary member since before the clan was even fully founded,” the keeper stated. “We are, after all, the only clan you’ve trusted with your identity for the past ten centuries.” 

“Err, given the Dales fell only eight centuries ago,” Mahvir started. 

“Oh, hush.” Deshanna glared at him. 

Mahvir chuckled. “Very well, I see your point, Keeper.” 

“Deshanna.” The keeper wagged her finger at him. 

“Keeper,” Mahvir teased with a sly smile. 

“Honestly,” Deshanna huffed. 

Theon chuckled softly. “I would still like your opinion on the matter, Shartan,” the clan _hahren pressed_. 

Mahvir leaned against the wood part of the wall. “The Conclave is important and will influence our people,” – more than these two could ever possibly know – “but it will also be extremely dangerous. You can only afford to send one person, especially with effects of the sickness still lingering in the clan.” 

Deshanna closed her eyes. “This is true.” 

Mahvir had arrived in the clan a few months ago after Fear had delivered a message to him the clan had fallen to illness. He had rushed here to find Teren, the clan healer, extremely ill. His apprentice had passed to the illness along with many of the children which had been in the clan. Mahvir had been able to aid the First and Keeper in healing Teren. The hunters were still weak from the sickness. 

It was a stroke of luck Theon, the oldest member of the clan, hadn’t been affected by the illness at all. Granted, this might have been because Deshanna had ordered him to stay far from the healer’s _aravel_. 

Deshanna took a deep breath. “The girl you raised, she’s one of the finest huntresses we have. She could—”

Mahvir lifted his hand to stop the Deshanna. “I will go.” 

Silence greeted his words. Both Theon and Deshanna stared at him. 

“Come again?” Deshanna asked. “I must be hearing things because it just sounded like you volunteered to go to the Conclave.” 

“No, you’re hearing is fine, Keeper Deshanna.” Mahvir looked at her a soft smile on his face. “I will go to conclave.” 

For a moment Deshanna just stared at him then she stepped towards him. Her hand was light on his arm. “Shartan,” she started, her tone patient as she had used with the young of clan countless time, “you’re in no condition to go to the Conclave.” Her gaze lingered on the left side of his body where his baggy, tattered clothing hide the burn scar marring that half of him. 

It was true he couldn’t walk more than a few feet without his staff and his lungs were a wreck after the fire which had nearly taken his life. Still, this didn’t make Mahvir useless. He had his tricks. A trick which would allow him to pass as a completely normal, healthy, and Dalish elf. 

Besides, out of all those Deshanna had been considering, Mahvir was the best option for the future of their people. 

Mahvir placed his hand over Deshanna’s. “I know you’re worried, Deshanna, but I can do this.” He glanced at Theon who just watched them, lost in thought. “I have a way which will make me healthy and normal,” he informed Deshanna. 

The keeper hesitated. “Let’s see it.” She stepped back. There was pain and fear in her hazel gaze despite the calm of her features. 

“ _Deceit, to me_ ,” Mahvir ordered over his mental link with the demon. 

“ _Slave driver_ ,” the demon returned in annoyance. 

Mahvir opened the door. A white raven flew into the aravel and landed on his shoulder. Mahvir shut the door behind the raven. 

“ _What do you want, Dirthy_?” she demanded, looking at with piercing blue eyes. 

She was there for only a heartbeat before Mahvir forced her to fuse with him. Pain lanced through his body, swarming through him as fire in the veins. The agony escaped him as only a gasp. He collapsed to his knees. Pins pricked at his flesh, feeling almost molten. He forced forward the illusion and more deceitful magic of the demon instead of the normal form he took when fused with her. 

As fast as it started, it was over. Mahvir was staring at his hands, curled against the wooden floor. 

“ _That hurt, Dirthy. Give me warning next time you want to fuse and shift the fusion._ ” 

“ _Apologies, Deceit. I will keep that in mind for the next time_.” 

“W-what?” Deshanna started. She knelt beside him, her hand warm against his back. “Theon, do you know what that was?” 

“I believe it was a form a magic Shartan has never told us about. Though, I see why he doesn’t use it often, looked rather painful.” 

“It was,” Mahvir gasped. “Far more than if I just put up with a lame leg and bad lungs.” He took a deep breath. Though it shuddered from the pain he’d just gone through, no restriction came. His lungs expanded freely for the first time in centuries. He let out a soft laugh. 

“Let’s see.” Deshanna’s finger was light on Mahvir’s chin. She forced him to look at her. Her eyes widened. “Creators, I don’t believe it.” She smiled. “You look like you were raised Dalish, _ma falon_.”

It was more than just the lack of pain. The world felt almost silent. Mahvir stood, smiling as no pain lanced through his leg, no feeling of future pain or the pain of the past intensifying the feeling of placing weight on his leg. 

Theon nodded. “You’re right, keeper, he does look Dalish now.” Theon smiled. “Now, we just need to get him into leathers to fully fit the part.” 

Mahvir held up his hand. “Dalish leathers will stand out at the Conclave,” he reminded them to why he was doing this. 

“This is true.” Deshanna bowed her head. “We’ll get you clothing which will one: not stand out and two: help hide your _vallaslin_.” She laughed as if she couldn’t believe she’d just said that. Then shook her head. “How long will this disguise last?”

“At most, four years if I am lucky,” Mahvir replied. 

“Well, the Conclave shouldn’t last that long.” Deshanna smiled. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I hope to see you in a few months.” 

Mahvir chuckled. “Perhaps.” Though, before he had lost it, his sight had told him if all went well he would be in this disguise for almost three years.

“Now, let’s get your disguise rounded out with a backstory and ready to head out,” – a sly smile curled Deshanna’s lips – “ _da’len_.” Her smile widened. “Mythal’s mercy, I never thought I’d call you, Shartan, _da’len_.” 

Mahvir laughed. “Get used to it for the time I’m like this, Deshanna.” He coughed. “Though, I should now really call you Keeper Deshanna.” 

The keeper huffed. “Yes, yes, very well, back to your being too formal for your own good.” 

Theon laughed from where he still sat. “Now, you don’t call me ‘hahren,’ ma falon. It is always just Theon to you, no matter how you appear.” 

“Very well, Theon.” Mahvir bowed to the old elf. Then he looked to Deshanna. “Shall we, Keeper?” 

She nodded, his eyes shining with amusement and worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ir abelas_ – I’m sorry  
>  _Vallaslin_ – Blood writing, it is the name for the tattoos the Dalish wear   
> _Hahren_ – elder   
> _ma falon_ – my friend   
> _da’len_ – little child
> 
> All right, yes, Mahvir is Shartan in my head canon.


	3. Plain’s Edge

Pain, the sound of it almost echoed over the plains into a hollow whisper within the night. Mahvir paused. The scent of grass hung heavy on the air. It rustled within the wind until the tips brushed over his tattered robes. Mahvir lifted his gaze to the horizon. 

The Dales. 

He closed his eyes and drew in the familiar scents of the Exalted Plains. There was no sound of war or scent of burning grasses as the two armies clashed. All was quiet for the first time in many years. Or as quiet as it could be. Sound trickled to Mahvir from the future. The softness of bare feet against the hard, dry ground of the plains. 

The sound became reality. The softness of steps moved ever closer to him, so quiet no human would have been able to detect them. Fingers dragged over feathers as a bow string was drawn back. 

Mahvir opened his eyes. “A lovely evening, wouldn’t the both of you agree, _lethallan_?” 

The sound froze. 

Mahvir turned to the two of the People. Both held their bows, arrows notched so they were pointed at him. They wouldn’t attack, not yet. He smiled at them from under his hood. “I am quite curious,” he started, tone smooth, “do you two belong to Hawen’s Clan or is there another clan nearby I’m unaware of?” 

“Hawen’s,” growled the male hunter. “Name your business, _shem_.” 

“ _Shem_?” Mahvir chuckled at this. It had been ages since he had been mistaken as a human. “I beg your pardon, but I am of the People, _da’len_ , or do you expect very _shem_ to speak our People’s mother tongue?” 

The hunter bristled. “Watch your tongue, _flat-ear_.” 

Mahvir just smiled at this. He had many retorts he could give to such a statement; however, he would prefer not being skewered at the end of a bow. “Ir abelas, da’len.” Mahvir bowed low to the hunters. “I meant no offense by the question. However,” – he rose a little from the bow, eyes locked on the hunters – “I would like to speak with Keeper Hawen. It is a matter of importance.” 

“At this time of night?” the second hunter asked. She had lowered her bow ever so slightly when he had apologized in elvish. 

“It is a matter related to those among our People leaving,” Mahvir explained. 

She lifted her bow. “What would you know of it, _flat-ear_?” she hissed the question. 

“A little defensive, aren’t we?” Mahvir gave a light laugh at this. “I am merely a wanderer who seeks to share knowledge before moving on his way.” 

“I think he’s telling the truth,” the first hunter whispered to his companion. “At the very least, we should let Keeper Hawen decide.” 

The girl scowled. “Fine.” She lowered her bow. “But don’t you even think of trying anything funny.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of stealing from the People.” Mahvir gave them another bow. “ _Ma serannas_ , _da’len_.” 

The two hunters took the lead. 

Mahvir moved behind them. Pain tingled through his left leg and he placed weight onto his staff with every other step he took. The hunters set a brisk pace across the plains towards a dim flickering light of a campfire. It was half hidden by the hill Hawen had his clan camped behind. 

Claws wrapped around Mahvir’s lungs as he forced himself to keep pace with the young hunters. His breathing grew ragged until it felt as if he was trying to draw breath through a pillow. He drew a small plant from his bag and placed it into his mouth, breathing in the juices. His lungs eased until he could draw breath once more. 

Hawen was awake. He stood before the fire, his gaze distant as he watched the embers flicker up into the night. His brow was creased with worry until the lines of Andruil’s vallaslin were pulled to make parts of the bow appear as one line in places instead of two. His white hair seemed almost orange in the glow of the fire. 

“Keeper,” the first hunter greeted Hawen with a slight bow, “we found this flat-ear while we were scouting.” 

Hawen straightened. He turned, gaze still distant, movement almost slow. “ _Ma serannas_ , _da’len_. Please, return to scouting.” 

“Of course, keeper.” The two of them moved off into the night. It left Mahvir with the keeper and the clan. 

“It is odd to see a city elf so far from an alienage. Are you one of,” his tone darkened, hand moving to his staff, “ _his_ men?” 

“By this ‘him,’ I presume you’re speaking of Fen’Harel,” Mahvir started in way of greeting to the old keeper. 

Hawen stiffened. His fingers wrapped around his staff, eyes narrowed. Every part of him was ready for battle. 

“I am not one of Fen’Harel’s men, rather one who seeks to stand in his way,” Mahvir continued. 

Hawen dropped his hand from his staff. “You don’t follow him?” he asked, distrust still visible in his eyes. 

“No,” Mahvir replied simply. “There is no turning back the hands of time. While the past should never be forgotten, our People should seek the future.” And to do this, Mahvir couldn’t be the Inquisitor. Not that he even looked too much like he had before. His face bare now; body scarred and branded. “If I may,” – he gestured to his bag – “I have a letter.” 

Hawen frowned but gave the slightest incline of his head. 

Mahvir pulled out an old letter. It had been sealed and kept in pristine condition from centuries ago by his bag. He held out the letter to Hawen. 

The keeper took it with a slight frown. His gaze lingered on the warn parchment, to the ancient seal of the old Dales. It was one of ten such letters which had been written by a dear friend of Mahvir’s at the fall of the Dales. 

“This seal,” Hawen started, “I’ve seen such seals before on documents the Inquisitor recovered from the Emerald Graves, but they were broken.” Hawen traced the seal with his fingers. Then he carefully broke it. He closed his eyes as if breaking the seal had been a physical blow. The keeper took a deep breath and pulled the letter from the envelope. 

Back before the fall of the Dales, Mahvir had been known to more than just one small clan as to having been Shartan. It had still been a closely guarded secret especially given most would wonder how it was Mahvir had managed to regain their People’s immortality. Each of the ten letters he held had been to future generations from the last of the priests of the creators regarding Mahvir’s true identity. 

If the letter was presented, then it was only because Mahvir needed aid for the good of their people. It was honestly the only reason Mahvir would ever come out with one piece of his past to others. He had no desire to be viewed in a high light. He wasn’t a god. He wasn’t a savior. He was just him. 

Mahvir watched Hawen, studying the way he reacted as he read the letter. The keeper traced the letter’s ancient parchment with his fingers before his gaze moved to the first lines. The curiosity and wonder in his eyes faded as he read. Color started to drain from his face until the letter shook in his hands. He glanced at Mahvir; then continued with the letter; then looked at Mahvir and back again. 

“Is what this says true?” Hawen queried when he finished reading the letter. His gaze locked on Mahvir over the top of the letter. “Are you him? Are you really,” his voice dropped in volume, “Shartan?” There was a hint of wonder behind the name. “We were taught he was killed alongside Andraste.” 

Mahvir took a deep, shuddering breath. His lungs strained from the trip here. The staff fell against his shoulder. He lifted his hands and removed his tattered gloves to reveal the burn scar covering both hands as gloves. He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm just passed his elbow. The scar continued up his arm and vanished under the sleeve. Then Mahvir removed the scarf from around his neck to reveal the burn on the left side of his neck. The lower part of his left ear melded to his jaw from the burn. The burn vanished under his hair. 

“Creators,” Hawen breathed. His eyes widened until the white framed his eyes. “ _Ir abelas_ , _Hahren_ ,” Hawen bowed to Mahvir, “I should have believed the letter without having you show me proof.” 

“It’s quite all right, Keeper.” Mahvir pulled back down his sleeves. “By all rights, I should have died that day. My bindings burned off before the fire could kill me and I managed to escape while all eyes were on Andraste.” Blood poured into the flames before his eyes. Andraste hung limp, her auburn hair burning, blood pouring from her neck. He had reached for her, only to know she was gone forever. 

Mahvir took another deep breath to drive the images from his mind. It was in the past. He couldn’t save her then and there was no point in dwelling on his heart’s death. Now, he needed to focus on the future for both his people and the world Andraste had loved so deeply. 

“How many has Fen’Harel swayed from your clan?” Mahvir asked. Though, he already knew the answer. His gaze skimmed the small group. Only a few of Hawen’s best had left. 

“Four,” Hawen replied, “along with my new first.” He scowled at this. The keeper looked at Mahvir. “What do you plan on doing about this situation, _Hahren_? Our children can’t fall to the Dread Wolf.” 

“It isn’t the Dread Wolf I’m worried about, it’s what he plans for our People and our world. To recreate Elvhenan, he must destroy this world,” Mahvir informed Hawen, “and everyone in it, including his followers.” 

Hawen paled. 

“I plan on gathering as many of the People who will listen to counter his own forces. This matter involves all of our people and is for their very future.” 

Hawen bowed his head. “It will be an honor to fight alongside you. My clan stands beside you, Shartan.” 

“ _Ma serannas_ , Keeper Hawen, but there’s no need to sound so formal.” Mahvir gave him a soft smile. 

The words made the keeper blink. He bowed his head. “Come, you must be tired from your journey here.” Hawen turned and gestured for Mahvir to follow him.

“That’s unnecessary, Keeper Hawen. I’m fine out here.” 

The keeper frowned. He looked ready to argue at this. 

“In the morning, I would like to speak with you over matters related to the Dread Wolf.” 

Hawen hesitated. His gaze flickered around the small camp. “All right,” the keeper replied. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like an _aravel_ , _Hahren_?” 

“I’m fine.” Mahvir bowed his head before he lifted back up his hood. He limped away from the fire and towards the river. Mahvir settled himself on the ground, leg stretched out before him. His hand rested on the leg. An ache had settled into the leg over the course of the day and the long walk here. 

The first step was complete. One clan, no matter how small it was becoming was now on his side. Still, it was a small victory. There were those among the clan who wouldn’t trust him right away. Also, Mahvir still needed to get into the lower parts of the temple of Dirthamen before Solas did. There was much to do and little time to accomplish it in. 

“ _Fear_.” 

“ _I’m here_.” Fear landed beside Mahvir. 

“ _Take this to Deshanna. I’m going to gather a few along the way to Kirkwall._ ” 

Fear snapped his beak in annoyance but didn’t voice a complaint aloud. He took the letter from Mahvir before launching into the dark night. 

Mahvir took a deep breath, in through his nose and slowly out through his mouth. The cool night bit into his lungs. Tomorrow. Mahvir closed his eyes. Tomorrow more would learn who he had been a thousand years ago. It was a matter he wasn’t looking forward to. He never wanted to be someone great again, but he couldn’t stand by and let Solas destroy this world as he had done with Elvhenan. This world was a wonderful place. If only there was a way to get Solas to see this. 

“ _You’re deluding yourself_ ,” Deceit snapped at him. 

“ _I know_.”

*~ _Dorian_ ~*

Dorian’s head ached. He had made it to Jader after only a week’s worth of travel. Varric had come with him this far, needing to take a boat across to the Free Marches. It wasn’t the dwarf’s company which had Dorian ready to pull out his hair, rather the company of his so called “guard” from the Imperium who had met them there.

“Say, Sparkler, do they ever let you out of their sights?” Varric asked, eying the guard. 

Dorian grumbled. He, for once, had no witty remark for the dwarf. According to the accursed letter the guard had on them, they were to escort Dorian safely across Nevarra and into Imperium territory. 

Iron Bull eyed them over his tankard. “If they keep giving me the stink eye,” his lover started. 

“I know, Amatus,” Dorian whispered. 

“I know just the thing to take all our minds off them.” Varric set down his own tankard with a small _thump_. “You pull out that crystal of yours and let all of us speak with the Inquisitor.” 

“That is the first good suggestion you’ve had all day.” Dorian pulled out the crystal and set it on the table. “Mahvir, you there?” he asked as the soft light bounced off Varric’s tankard. 

There was a long moment before an answer came over the crystal. “Dorian? It’s rather late.” Mahvir’s breathing sounded strained as if he had been running. His voice was also very quiet as if he was around other’s who were sleeping. 

“I thought you would be missing my voice by now.” Dorian felt himself smile. It was good to hear the Inquisitor’s calm voice, no matter how breathless it sounded. 

“Hey, boss, you with a girl or something? You sound out of breath.” Bull smirked as he leaned towards the crystal. 

Mahvir gave a soft laugh. 

“Since when has the Inquisitor been with a girl?” Varric demanded. He pulled out a notebook and a quill. “Though, do tell, Inquisitor. If you are I need to make corrections to my book.” 

“Yes, I’m so with a girl right now, Varric. The prettiest of them all.” 

“Oh, do tell.” Dorian leaned forward. Then he sighed. “You’re not, are you? You’re leading us on.” 

Dorian could just picture a smile, soft and ever knowing, curling Mahvir’s lips and wrinkling the purple _vallaslin_ of Dirthamen. “Since when have I ever said ‘yes’ to any of the girls we encountered?” Mahvir’s voice was calm. There was always a note to his voice which reminded Dorian of an extremely wise, old man even when he was teasing them. Though, Mahvir had stated himself he was only in twenties. 

“You really need to loosen up, boss, the world’s not ending just yet. Have a drink.” 

“I doubt there are any taverns close to where I’m at, Iron Bull.” 

“You’re not in Jadar?” Varric pressed. “It doesn’t sound like you’re on the Waking Sea just yet either.” 

“No, I’m within the Dales.” 

“What possessed you to go there?” Dorian demanded. A flicker of worry shot through him. Mahvir had stated only three weeks ago his adventuring days were over especially now he was missing his left arm. 

“Hawen’s clan wanders the Dales, _ma falon_ ,” Mahvir stated, using the elven term for friend. 

“What did you need with Hawen?” This was just getting more and more confusing. 

A small breath came from Mahvir. “My people are splitting,” the words were soft, almost pained as if this truth was a splinter to Mahvir’s heart. “I needed to speak with Hawen over what’s happening.” 

“What if he was part of Chuckle’s group?” Varric demanded. “Did you think about that?” 

Mahvir laughed at this. “Varric, you under estimate the power of fear the Dalish have for the Dread Wolf. The more traditionalists among the clans would never side with Fen’Harel no matter what he’s offering them.” 

“If I recall, that man was extraordinarily traditional when it came to the recovered ways of your people,” Dorian mused. He stroked his mustache as he remembered, with great fondness, the many errands Hawen had set them to prove their friendship to his clan. Even after the man had been very wary of Dorian and Cassandra especially. He spoke only with Mahvir or Solas and even seemed distant towards Solas. “How many have left his clan?” 

Mahvir didn’t answer. 

“That bad?” Dorian pressed. 

“It’s not a matter I should discuss, even with you three.” 

“What? Don’t trust us? You wound me.” 

Mahvir chuckled. It sounded almost sad. “Forgive me, Dorian, but right now this is matter for the People.” 

“So, if Buttercup was here you’d tell us?” Varric asked. 

“Sera doesn’t consider herself an elf,” Mahvir stated. 

“True.” 

“So, if you’re not with a girl, why are you out of breath, boss?” Iron Bull asked. 

No reply. 

“Mahvir, what’s wrong?” Dorian asked, voice now sweet. 

“Hmm? I was thinking, sorry.” 

“So, you weren’t avoiding Iron Bull’s question.” Dorian felt himself smile a little. “I thought you were better at this grand ‘game’ as you southerners call it.” 

“That’s only in Orlais, Sparkler,” Varric reminded him. 

Dorian shot a glare at the dwarf over the crystal. “I’m well aware, but our dear Inquisitor is currently in Orlais. So are we for that matter.” 

“Come now, Sparkler, you can’t keep grouping all of us south of the Imperium together. It’s insulting.” 

“Hmm.” Iron Bull gave a thoughtful hum around his tankard. He set it down. “I’ve been thinking, Varric, why did you never give the boss a nickname?” 

“Inquisitor fits him, Tiny.” 

“You called him ‘Herald’ before that,” Dorian pointed out. 

“So?” 

“So, Herald and Inquisitor can’t both be the all-encompassing nickname you can come up with, Varric. After all, you called me Sparkler only moments after meeting me.” 

“You must have one for the boss.” Iron Bull smirked a little. 

“Do you hear this, Inquisitor? They’re cornering me into giving you a nickname.” 

Mahvir chuckled. “I believe I have enough nicknames and titles, Varric.” 

Titles. Dorian remembered how much Mahvir had hated it when he had called the man “Inquisitor” after a time. The more titles he had gained, the less Mahvir had liked being the focus of the Inquisition. Yet, Mahvir had only shown this part of himself to those he was closest to. Those who wouldn’t judge him for it. Mainly Dorian. Vivienne, well, it was safe to say she would never understand where Mahvir was coming from. Cassandra had been too focused on the goals of the Inquisition. 

Mahvir was an odd man, to say the least. While he was a rouge, he put a lot on knowledge. He had once told Dorian, having the knowledge allows for better control of the battlefield, a greater understanding of where the enemy stood. 

“You like making toys for kids, so Toymaker?” Varric asked. 

“You’re giving him the choice.” 

Mahvir laughed. “Believe it or not, Deshanna calls me that already.” The sound from the other side muffled. 

Dorian could just make out hushed words which seemed to come from Keeper Hawen. “We’ve prepared a place for you to stay, _Hahren_.”

“I am honestly fine out here, Keeper.” Mahvir’s tone had changed, sounding wiser despite being muffled by his hand over the crystal. Then the crystal went dark as Mahvir no doubt tucked it away. 

Dorian frowned. 

“Well that was odd, even for Toymaker,” Varric voiced. “Hmm, Daisy said that word the keeper called him once.” The dwarf frowned. 

_Hahren_? Dorian thought back on the elvish he had asked Mahvir to teach him after learning the Inquisitor’s name meant “Tomorrow” in the elven language. “It means elder, roughly,” Dorian explained after a moment. “Mahvir taught me a little of his people’s language,” he explained at Varric’s look. 

“Don’t elves guard that knowledge?” Varric asked. “I asked Daisy to teach me once and she refused.” 

“You should have asked the boss. He gave me a few words here and there, but it was mainly what his and Solas’s names meant.” 

“And that would be?” Varric pressed. 

“Tomorrow and pride. Guess which is which?” Dorian couldn’t help but smirk at the dwarf. If anyone just asked Mahvir if his name meant anything, the Inquisitor had been more than willing to explain. 

“Well, Toymaker seems less gloomy so ‘tomorrow’ is his name. Pride would have to be Chuckle’s.” 

“Yeah, you got it.” Iron Bull nodded. 

Dorian let out a small breath. He looked at the dark crystal. “He’s only in his late twenties,” he muttered. 

“Hmm?” 

“I was saying, Mahvir is about twenty-seven or twenty-eight now, why would Hawen call him ‘elder’?” 

Varric shrugged. “You’ll give yourself a headache trying to figure out why Dalish do anything.” 

Well, this was true. The south was still strange to him at times. Still – he looked back at the crystal – two of the people he thought he understood and knew the best were Iron Bull and Mahvir. Mahvir was his best friend. Iron Bull his lover. He knew he could rely on both no matter what the situation. No – Dorian shoved the thought from his mind. He was being ridicules. Mahvir trusted him with even his darkest secrets from his time within the clan. There were no secrets between them.

*~ _Mahvir_ ~*

Mahvir tucked away the crystal, mentally cursing himself for not seeing Hawen wouldn’t be happy letting Shartan sleep outside. Dorian and the others would have heard Hawen call him “ _hahren_ ,” but only Dorian knew what that meant.

“An _aravel_ has been prepared,” Hawen continued as if he hadn’t heard Mahvir’s protest. 

A small breath escaped Mahvir. He used his staff to pull himself to his feet. Hawen was at his side in a second. The keeper’s hands wrapped around Mahvir’s arm as he helped him back to his feet. Worry appeared in Hawen’s eyes. 

“Are you all right, _Hahren_?” 

“Keeper, please, stop calling me ‘ _hahren_.’ I look to be in my twenties,” Mahvir pointed out. Besides, Mahvir didn’t much like the way people, especially his people, suddenly treated him differently upon learning who he had been a thousand years ago. Still, if he had any hopes of uniting those who didn’t see eye-to-eye with Solas among the People or disliked him for the simple fact he was the Dread Wolf, Mahvir had no choice but to take back his old name. 

Hawen frowned. His gaze locked onto Mahvir’s. In the darkness of the night, Mahvir knew his eyes appeared to be black. 

“You are an elder,” the keeper replied, his tone smooth. There was a small smile on his face. “The most honored of elders.” 

That sounded almost like something Theon would have said and not Keeper Hawen. Mahvir couldn’t stop a small smile at the thought of his oldest friend. Then he took a deep breath, “Very well, Keeper.” He gestured for Hawen to lead the way. “ _Ma serannas_ for your hospitality.” There was no point in arguing against the keeper giving Mahvir one of the spare _aravel_ s. 

Hawen led Mahvir towards where the _aravel_ s were hidden. The keeper kept his pace slow, no doubt having noticed Mahvir’s limp. Mahvir bit back telling the keeper he could manage a normal pace. After the journey here and being forced to the pace the hunters had set, Mahvir knew he couldn’t handle a normal pace. His lungs still burned. 

The _aravel_ Hawen led Mahvir to was placed to the side of the others. The keeper entered first, moving up the steps with a practiced ease. He turned just inside the _aravel_ and held out his hand to Mahvir. 

Mahvir took a deep breath. He felt his lungs pull from the chill of the night. He took the keeper’s offered hand and used his staff for a boost up onto the first step. It was far easier to get into an _aravel_ with aid than it would have been to pull himself in. Heat spread over Mahvir’s ears. He was grateful for his hood and the darkness of the night so Hawen couldn’t see the blush. 

“ _Ma serannas_ , Keeper Hawen,” Mahvir bowed his head when he was in the _aravel_. 

_Aravel_ s outside of the keeper’s, clan _hahren_ ’s, and clan healer’s, were small. Every clan had a different style of building them as well. Most of the older _aravel_ s held two beds tucked on either side of the space, much like this one. At the back were shelves to store clothing and other such items. More storage was placed under both of the beds. 

Clan Lavellan had used traded cloths and furs of what they had hunted to make up the beds. Hawen’s clan had been given mats by the Inquisition upon Mahvir’s request for each of the _aravel_ s the clan currently had. This _aravel_ wasn’t an exception, though, now Mahvir was seeing what it had done. The softer bed rolls had been placed on the beds. Furs covered only one of the beds and looked to have just been added. 

There was no need to ask who’s _aravel_ this had been. Mahvir knew it belonged to the clan’s first who had left the clan to join Fen’Harel. 

“ _Ma serannas_ , Keeper.” Mahvir bowed his head. Right then, it felt as if Mahvir had done nothing but thank the keeper. “We’ll speak more in the morning, then?” He kept a hint of a question in his voice. 

“I think so.” Hawen smiled. “Creator’s permit you a good sleep, _Hahren_ Shartan.” Hawen slipped from the _aravel_. 

A blur of white shot over the keeper and into the _aravel_. The door closed with a snap. Deceit landed on the second bed, her feathers fluffed. “He almost hit me,” she snapped her beak, speaking a loud for the first time. More because there was no need to fear her being overheard right then. 

Mahvir let out a small breath. He leaned his staff against the narrow sliver of wall by the door. He had been happy to sleep outside. Besides it was unlikely he would get more than a few hours of sleep at best. Visions of the past haunted him every time he slept. Dreams within the Fade were forever beyond Mahvir. His sight locked on moments of time rather than such wonders which could unfold within the dream realm.   
The furs were soft when Mahvir settled himself on the bed. The entire bed was too soft. He chuckled. Though, if he was honest with himself, nowhere near as soft as the bed back at Skyhold. That one had been impossible to sleep in unless Solas had forced Mahvir into sleep. 

Mahvir settled himself onto the furs and stared at the dark ceiling of the _aravel_. 

Tomorrow. 

He closed his eyes. 

Tomorrow would mark the real start of stopping Solas. Mahvir took a deep breath. The familiar scent of halla and furs filled his nose. It was a scent of being within a clan. Warmth filled him. This wasn’t Clan Lavellan, but it was one of the clans of his People. Would it be home to him? Home was wherever he was needed. The longest he had spent in one place was within the Dales before his people’s isolationist views had ended up working against them during the blight. 

Mahvir focused his vision on images of the Inquisition and his time there. If he was to sleep, he wanted his “dreams” to be of the past few years. To not have the familiar haunting of Andraste’s death or the downfalls of his people race over his eyes over and over again. 

He felt himself drift to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:   
> _Ma serannas_ – my thanks or thank you. 
> 
> Tevene:   
> _Amatus_ – term of endearment (wiki)


	4. Hawen's Clan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I did a mistake when trying to update this story where I added on a chapter from my Star Wars one. Sorry if that was confusing. Here is the real chapter 4...

Flames burned at the edge of Mahvir’s vision. The heat seared flesh, biting deeper with each passing second. Fire leapt up around him. Mahvir turned his gaze, feeling the heat against his jaw and head. The scent of burning hair mingled with burning flesh. He could feel the bindings holding him loosen. He strained forward. Pain lanced through his body. Then he was on the ground before the pyre. 

_Andraste_. Mahvir struggled to breathe through the growing smoke. His eyes burned from it. _Andraste_. Mahvir pulled himself to his feet. Pain coursed through his body. His gaze locked onto the pyre close to his. He reached out. He had to reach her. 

Flames wrapped around his hands. His eyes locked onto her, skin shriveling in the fire. Blood stained her chest. Auburn hair whipped in the flames, embers caught on the strands. 

All eyes were locked on her. 

No! 

Mahvir staggered back. 

“ _Dirthy_!” A voice filled his mind. 

This wasn’t real. Andraste, she couldn’t be gone. 

Two ravens fell from the sky towards him. 

Pain tore deep into his heart. “No!” His voice ripped through the air. His eyes burned as power and pain surged through his veins. The flames froze. Movement ceased. Tears burned his eyes yet couldn’t fall. 

His eyes locked on the one responsible. “Murderer,” his voice rasped. His legs shook as Mahvir forced a step forward. 

“We must leave now, Dirth!” Fear took hold of what remained of Mahvir’s clothes. The demon forced itself into Mahvir. 

A scream tore from Mahvir as wings ripped apart his burned back. Fear’s power surged through him. “ _Na’din_ ,” Mahvir hissed. 

“ _Dirth_!” Fear shrieked in his mind. 

Darkness swarmed over Mahvir’s vision. 

Mahvir jolted awake. His breaths came in short, sharp bursts. His eyes locked onto the ceiling of the _aravel_. It had only been a vision of the past. His hands shook as he placed them over his eyes. A vision of the past. He closed his eyes. 

The warmth of tears leaked through the countless holes of his gloves. He had seen her death coming and lived through the pain of it. He had moved too slow to save her. If Mahvir had been healthy even back then, would he have been able to save her? The question rang unanswered through his mind.

He lifted his hands. The gloves hid the scars which wrapped his hands from when he had reached for her. He flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar resistance as the scarred skin pulled. The ancestor of Clan Lavellan had helped Mahvir gain more use of his hands and his leg in the years following Andraste’s death. 

Darkness clung to the _aravel_. In all likelihood, only a few hours had passed since Mahvir had fallen asleep. He pushed himself up, feeling his arms strain under the weight of his frame. He took a deep breath. His lungs clear thanks to the warmth of the aravel. 

“You slept only three hours, Dirthy.” 

Mahvir looked towards where Deceit had nested herself on the second bed. Her blue eyes almost glowed in the darkness. “I know,” he whispered, voice soft even to his own ears. He clasped his hands before him. 

Mahvir pulled out the crystal Dorian had given him, dark now in the late hours of the night. The Teventer mage would be asleep or enjoying what little time remained with his lover before an early morning. Mahvir weighed the crystal in his hand. 

Dorian had heard Hawen call him “ _hahren_ ” only hours ago. “I could tell him,” Mahvir whispered to himself. “Confess everything.” He half closed his eyes. Pain stabbed deep into his heart. 

There had been many times he wanted to tell all his closest friends everything throughout his time in the Inquisition. Yet, even without his foresight, his fear of rejection had surfaced. If he told Dorian the truth now… Mahvir closed his eyes. He couldn’t stand the thought of rejection from Dorian, Varric, Cassandra, Iron Bull, Cole, Vivienne, Blackwall, and even Sera. The first friends he had in centuries outside of his people. Even then, his people, those who knew him, had treated him differently, with respect for knowing him as the Toymaker or reverence for knowing him as Shartan. Only Theon never treated him differently for being Shartan. 

Loneliness crashed down on Mahvir. The thought of hearing Dorian’s words become a reality now would destroy him. The mage would see it as a betrayal far worse than the one Solas had dealt to the world. For, it wouldn’t come from just anyone from the inner circle, but from Mahvir. The other’s reactions wouldn’t be any better and would even be worse from Sera. 

Mahvir’s grip tightened around the crystal until he felt the sharp edges bit into the tender, scarred flesh of his hands. Eternal life was bad enough without aiding eternal rejection to the list as well. 

“I will protect this world,” Mahvir whispered. He drew in air through his nose, feeling the restriction his sorrow brought, before he exhaled through his mouth. “Solas must be stopped.” The both of them didn’t belong in this world. 

Mahvir tucked away the crystal. 

There were far more important matters to worry about than this. Mahvir settled himself back on the bed. The main concern right now was Solas and his activities within the ancient temples here in the Dales. One such place he was heading was the temple of Dirthamen. Yet, it was a journey Mahvir knew he couldn’t make on his own. Sure he could enter the temple and get to the lower levels, but then he would be overwhelmed by the undead sentinels which dwelled there. 

Well, Mahvir could get through it, but it would be far more painful. Besides, his people had a right to some of the history left behind in the ancient temple. Though it was unknown to most, Dirthamen was the only one among the creators who hadn’t been a mage. Mahvir shoved these thoughts away. What he was or wasn’t no longer mattered. It was in the past. 

Mahvir rubbed his gloved hands together. Warmth spread through the tattered gloves into his hands. There was a biting cold settling over the world. Autumn was settling on the world and would soon be followed by a bitter winter. 

“A year,” Mahvir muttered under his breath. The images of the next year were faded in the back of his mind. Within the next three months’ news of Shartan’s revival would reach the members of the exalted council. There was no doubt, Leliana would have to act upon this. It would take a year for the ambassadors to be summoned. Then it would take time for them to figure out how to get a message to him. “A year.” Mahvir bowed his head. His tangled, black hair fell around his face. 

He took a deep breath. So much to accomplish in a year. The people were fractured, splintering. His return as Shartan would only pull together the Dalish and a few of the alienage elves who didn’t agree with Solas’s methods. Still, Solas would have the vast majority of their people on his side. The two years since Solas had left the Inquisition had been spent recruiting and moving his plans into motion. Solas had an army now. Even if he couldn’t enact his full plan, he could still crush those few who sided with Mahvir. 

“Your thoughts sound as if you’ve already given to that fate,” Deceit stated. 

Mahvir gave a bitter chuckle. He stood and pulled his bag back over his shoulder. “Never, Deceit. I will fight until there is no longer a world to fight for.” He lifted his staff. “For that is my fate. The only way to atone for what I’ve done.” 

The morning was cold. Mahvir stumbled from the _aravel_. A shiver raced through him. 

Despite the light of pre-dawn, the clan was already awake. Hawen stood at the fire he had the night before. He was dividing his hunters into groups, showing the senior hunter was among those to have left the clan. For a clan as small as Hawen’s, the loss of five members was a major blow. 

Mahvir’s gaze slid over a few of the younger hunters. They were gathered together, talking in hushed voice. Mahvir forced his hearing towards them, listening to them through an echo in time. 

“We should follow the First,” the first one whispered. It was the boy from last night. “We’re always on the run. The first was right, the Dread Wolf is going to recreate Elvhenan. We’ll be free.” 

“Just imagine it,” the girl from last night gushed, “us as the nobles and the shem as slaves.” 

And, yet, such a future didn’t exist. Solas’s vision would destroy everything. Their people included. There was no future there. Only a few would survive, living in a dark world as everything they knew burned around them, seared by demons who had been forced upon the world. Their nature corrupted. There was nothing in the world Solas sought. 

Mahvir moved passed the children. His movements soft despite his limp. His staff tapped against the cold ground as he passed the group of young hunters. This drew their attention to him. 

“Hey.” The male hunter from last night stood. “You’re the _flat-ear_ from last night. What in Elgar’nan’s name do you think you’re still doing here?” 

Mahvir didn’t turn to the elf. Responding would only drive an already worsening situation down further. 

“I’m talking to you.” The hunter took hold of Mahvir’s hood. 

Mahvir forced his body limp. The hunter’s move to jerk Mahvir back towards him proved less painful than if he had resisted. 

“Your kind aren’t welcome here.” The hunter’s eyes flashed. The _vallaslin_ of Elgar’nan wrinkled with a snarl. The look almost suited the wicked, spiny branches curled around his lips and under his eyes. 

“We are of the same people,” Mahvir stated in calm tones. “The only difference between us is in the fact I’ve never placed _vallaslin_ on myself.” 

“You dare degrade our traditions!” 

Mahvir’s neck jerked. He could feel the hunter’s hot breath on his face. “Degrade? No. Point out the one difference between you and I, yes.” 

The hunter snarled. “You stink of _shem_ cities.” He tossed Mahvir away from him. 

Pain lanced through Mahvir’s bad leg. A soft breath escaped him, his staff ground into the cold ground to keep him standing. 

“Go back to where you belong _shem_ pet.” 

Mahvir chuckled. To him, it sounded like the child had called him a “quick” pet. It was still an insult, all be it an amusing one. 

“What are you laughing at?” 

Pain shot through Mahvir as the hunter snagged his staff. The wood struck him first in the gut then in the knee. The cold ground struck his back. 

“ _Da’len_!” Hawen’s shout cut through the morning air. Rage filled the words.

Mahvir looked up at the hunter. The hunter hesitated before lifting the staff. Air whistled around the wood. _Thwack_ – the sound of wood on wood filled the air. 

Hawen had stepped between Mahvir and the hunter. His staff out. “You will not harm him!” Hawen’s voice dripped with rage. “Or, Mythal have mercy upon you, I will flay you myself.” 

“K-Keeper.” The hunter staggered back. “Creators, why are you protecting that _shem_ pet?” 

“He’s no one’s pet,” Hawen snapped. He took Mahvir’s staff from the hunter. “He is Shartan.” Hawen turned back to Mahvir and took his arm without another word. 

With the keeper’s help, Mahvir managed to get back to his feet. An ache pulsed through his leg, especially where the hunter had struck him. “Ma serannas, Keeper Hawen, but you needn’t have intervened.” Though, Mahvir was happy the man had. Mahvir had enough bruises on him right now to last him for the next few days. It would have been far worse if the keeper hadn’t stepped in. 

“Keeper, how can he be Shartan?” the hunter demanded. 

Hawen scowled. “I was presented indisputable evidence which confirms he’s Shartan.” 

The hunter blinked and frowned. His gaze now locked on Mahvir. 

Hawen handed the staff back to Mahvir. “I called the clan _hahren_ and healer to speak with you this morning as well, Shartan,” his voice was kinder now he was speaking to Mahvir instead of the hunter. 

“ _Ma serannas_ , Keeper.” Mahvir looked at the hunter. “ _Ir abelas_ , _da’len_.” He bowed his head to the small group. “I don’t have a vallaslin because I wish to move freely among all of my people.” He gave the hunters a sad smile. He bowed his head then moved after Hawen. It was for the best to leave it there. 

The _hahren_ was seated by the fire, her eyes locked on the dancing embers. Her face lined with age and eyes focused on a distant pain. It was a familiar look. Her mind on the pains of her clan and the troubles which faced the newer generation. 

This meant the healer was the woman beside the _hahren_. Her _vallaslin_ was the complex version of Mythal’s. 

“ _Aneth ara_ ,” Mahvir greeted the two women seated at the fire. 

The _hahren’s_ eyes brightened. “ _Andaran atish’an_ , Shartan.” She stood and bowed low to Mahvir. “It’s an honor to meet you, _hahren_.” 

Mahvir gave a nervous laugh. “Please, just Shartan is fine. You are the _hahren_ of the clan. Even if I am an elder, it still looks odd to passersby to say such a thing about someone who looks to be in his twenties.” Though, in reality it was more because Mahvir had no desire to be called “elder.” 

The _hahren_ bowed her head. A soft smile on her face. 

“Join us.” The healer gestured to a free place close to the fire. 

“ _Ma serannas_.” Mahvir bowed his head to the healer. He settled himself in the remaining space between the three of the clan. Mahvir stretched out his bad leg as a protest shot through it when he attempted to bend the leg. 

The keeper had taken a seat by the hahren. Mahvir felt the healer’s eyes on him. Her eyes were locked on his leg, a small frown on her face. 

“You wanted to speak with me in the morning,” Hawen started, “on the matter of what’s happening among the People.” 

“I did.” Mahvir looked at the small group. A large part of him missed the familiar faces of Deshanna, Theon, and Teren, another was happy to be among his people once more. “You are aware there is a Temple of Dirthamen not too far from here?” 

Hawen frowned. “I sent a few hunters there after Inquisitor Lavellan had made it safe. He already passed on what he uncovered of our history within. What about it?” 

“Fen’Harel has many of his agents there, searching for the way into the lower levels.” Mahvir looked between them. “The upper level the Inquisitor found, was only the first step entering in the temple proper.” 

“It was?” the healer asked. 

“How do you know this?” the _hahran_ seemed a little confused. “I saw no signs of lower levels when I went there,” she confessed. 

“Nor would you. The stairs were well hidden and no doubt even better considering the temple is flooded.” 

“What is the Dread Wolf looking for?” Hawen returned to the main topic. 

“As you’re well aware, Dirthamen is our god of knowledge and secrets,” Mahvir continued, “out of the eight, the answer on how to recreate Elvhenan is most likely within one of Dirthamen’s temples. There could be an artifact within the temple which will prove useful to the Dread Wolf. This is what the Dread Wolf seeks.” 

“If there are lower levels, think on what we could recover about our past,” the hahren’s eyes lit up. A smile on her face at the thought of all the knowledge they could find within the temple. 

Hawen nodded. “I agree we should investigate this and try to get to the artifact and knowledge before the Fen’Harel does. But, how? You said his agents are already within the temple.” 

“I spent a few years exploring the temple,” Mahvir started with a lie, “I know of passages which will get us into the lower levels with ease. I got as far as the main passage of the temple before I was swarmed by undead.” 

“I can go and bring three hunters with me. A small group will go unnoticed to Fen’Harel’s forces.” 

“I will need to come as well,” Mahvir stated. “Some of the tricks to get into those passages are complex and would take too long to try and explain.” 

The healer stiffened. “I mean no disrespect, _Hahren_ Shartan—” she cut off and took a deep breath. “While the keeper gathers those going with the two of you, would you permit me to look at your leg and injuries?” she asked. 

Mahvir hesitated. He was used to Teren giving him strengthening positions and Deshanna healing him. Still, he admitted his body ached after the beating it had just taken. “All right.” Mahvir pulled himself to his feet with his staff. “Keeper Hawen, I’ll join you and the chosen hunters shortly. It’s best we head out as soon as possible.” 

“Agreed.” The keeper turned to the clan hahren and started to speak with her over how to run the clan while he was away. 

Their group would only be gone from most of the day, returning near nightfall, but it was for the best Hawen did this. The clan would need guidance while Hawen was away. 

The healer set a soft, slow pace through the camp and into the cave where most of the _aravels_ were parked. She stayed close to his side, eyes worried as she watched his limp. 

“I am Egeril,” the healer introduced herself. “ _Ir abelas_ for not telling you sooner.” She bowed her head to him. 

“It’s fine.” Mahvir gave her a soft smile.

The healer’s _aravel_ was placed where it was one of the most protected _aravels_ in the event of bandit attacks. Egeril moved up the few steps and entered the aravel before Mahvir. She turned and, as with Hawen, aided him in getting into the _aravel_. 

Warmth washed over Mahvir as he entered the space. The tightness of his lungs eased from the warmth. There was a small space at the front of the _aravel_ devoted to where a healer and one other could sit. This space was always used to treat minor injuries. 

Mahvir placed his staff by the door and limped over to the cloth parting this section of the _aravel_ from the next. The next room was small with only two sections for beds instead of the four Mahvir was used to in clan Lavellan. Granted, Hawen’s clan was half the size of Lavellan, despite both being small. 

“Wait here.” Egeril gestured for him to take a seat on one of the beds. She hurried into the last room of the _aravel_. 

Mahvir settled himself on one of the beds.

“ _This is silly_ ,” Deceit muttered in his mind. “ _You shouldn’t waste time with a healer. Just get those hunters and get going_.” 

Egeril returned a few moments later. She carried a few poultices, salves, and potions. She set them on the small shelf beside the bed. “Remove your shirt,” she instructed him even as she sorted through the salves she had brought out. 

Heat started to creep over Mahvir’s ears. He took a deep breath and forced back his embarrassment. He started to unravel the clothing he wore, stripping the layers. The last layer was no longer the clothing he had worn in Skyhold. Instead he wore a thin, tattered shirt. He removed this as well and folded it on top of the robes and scarves he had removed. He took a deep breath, feeling the unburned flesh prickle with the sudden chill even in this warm space. 

Egeril turned to him. Her eyes widened a little as her gaze hovered over the burn which covered his left side. Another scar could be seen cutting down from his right shoulder and vanishing into the burn scar. His stomach and other places where the hunter had struck were red with welts which would turn to bruises. Mahvir also knew he had lost weight over the course of the week since leaving Skyhold.

She cleared her throat and pulled off the lid of one of the salves. “I’ve seen a few burns,” she started as she spread the salve over his left shoulder. It was cool and eased back the constant pain. “But nothing like this. You really were burned alive,” she whispered. 

Mahvir looked away from the healer. His ears warm. 

“Now, I know fires can have a negative effect on breathing.” Egeril had pulled away from him. “My mentor had several cases in the clan, one of which died from it. I take it with the extent of damage here, you would have this as well.” 

“I have a few herbs I use which ease the airways,” Mahvir explained. He pulled out one of the long herbs. 

The healer took it and examined the plant. She nodded. Then sighed. “Turn.” 

Mahvir obeyed even knowing how she would react to the scarring on his back. 

A sharp gasp escaped her. It wasn’t the sight of the burn on his back or the countless wipe marks from his time as a slave. Her cool fingers touched his right shoulder. “I was told stories about this mark,” she whispered. 

Mahvir touched his shoulder. He could feel the scar even through the burn on his hand. He had once tried to remove the mark by tearing at it with his nails. Eventually he had given up. It was another scar, another reminder. He would keep it and carry the brand of an ancient imperium slave for all eternity. 

“I never thought I’d see this mark,” fear and pain leaked into the healer’s voice. “ _Ir abelas_ , _hahren_.” Her hand fell away from the brand. He felt the cooling salve going over the burn scar on his back. “I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.” 

“It’s fine. I’ve grown rather used to it when people see the brand.” 

Several moments passed in silence as the healer worked. Mahvir was content to stare at the wall of the _aravel_. It helped to take his mind off someone seeing him half naked. 

“Now, for your leg, _Hahren_ Shartan.” 

Mahvir took a deep breath. He shifted so she could look at his leg. He also replaced his shirt at the very least. He relaxed a little now he wasn’t sitting before someone half naked. Egeril helped him pull up the pant leg just passed his knee. A small amount of blood could be seen where the strike to his knee had had broken flesh. 

The healer scowled. “I need to have a word with those _lenen_ ,” she muttered and pulled out a healing poultice. She cleaned the cut and started to dress it.

“It’s fine, healer,” Mahvir told her. “You needn’t make the situation worse by speaking with them. If anything, we should focus on attempting to get them to stay within the clan rather than angering them further towards leaving the clan.” 

Egeril huffed. “It was still no cause for them to beat you, especially you, just because you’re not Dalish.” 

“I believe Clan Lavellan would argue over that point.” Mahvir chuckled at the thought on how Deshanna would be react to someone saying he wasn’t Dalish. 

“You’re friends with the Inquisitor’s clan?” Egeril asked. 

“Yes,” was all Mahvir said in reply. 

Her eyes softened as she looked at the extent of the burn coating his leg. Her touch was soft as she finished dressing the wound. “How did you survive?” she whispered more to herself than to Mahvir. 

Mahvir couldn’t look at the healer. The images of what had happened that day were still clear in his mind from the other night. How he had escaped and managed to live wasn’t a matter he wished to discuss. It was clear while she was curious Egeril didn’t expect an answer from him. Instead she was just content to let the question hang. 

“I’m not going to place the salve close to the wound,” she spoke in louder tones meant for him. There was another pause. Her voice softened as she spoke next, “Please, take it easy while you’re with the keeper and hunters in the temple. If you weren’t needed,” she took a deep breath, “I would have advised the keeper to leave you here. You’re in no condition to be fighting. Or exploring ancient ruins.” 

“I know.” 

“Then why go?” the healer demanded. 

“I need to.” Mahvir rolled down his pant leg when she finished. “ _Ma serannas_ , healer.” He bowed his head. 

“Eat before you leave.” 

“I will.” Mahvir started to redress. 

The healer aided him out of the _aravel_. She didn’t follow to make certain he would eat. Instead returned inside of her _aravel_ to prepare for any injuries this expedition might see come to pass. 

Mahvir took a deep breath. It was time to start down the path to stop Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:  
>  _na’din_ – kill you  
>  _lenen_ \- children from the word _da'len_ meaning little child and the suffix _-en_ adding a multiplier to it for it be children instead of child


	5. Flooded Temple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise

Hawen stood at the edge of camp with the chosen hunters. He had picked one of the hunters who had attacked Mahvir; yet, this wasn’t a great shock. Just taking three would be draining on the clan and cut down on the number who could hunt today. Not all of them were hunters. The fourth member of the small group was a warrior who defended the clan. 

“Ready?” the keeper asked. He gave Mahvir a soft smile. 

“When you are, Keeper.” Mahvir bowed his head. 

The group mounted the few harts the clan had. The keeper held out his hand to Mahvir. Mahvir took it and joined the Keeper on his hart. The hart let out a soft snort when Deceit landed on its horn. 

“A white raven?” Hawen frowned at the bird. 

“ _Ir abelas_ , Keeper, the raven is a friend of sorts. As far as ravens go, she forgets her manors.” 

Deceit snapped her beak, blue eyes flashing with rage. “ _That’s not funny, Dirthy_.” Her feathers raised and she turned away from Mahvir and Hawen. 

“I see.” The Keeper nodded before he signaled for the group to be off. 

He set a fast pace. The harts raced over the plains towards the distant forest. The temple was situated between the Dirth and the emerald graves. At the pace the keeper set, it wasn’t long before they were coming up on the temple proper. 

Hawen raised his hand in a signal to the others. Mahvir had seen it as well. Movement high in the trees beyond. One of Fen’Harel’s group had gotten to a good vantage point. There was no going in through the entrance Mahvir had used when with the Inquisition. 

Their group moved into the brush where they could hide from prying eyes. 

Hawen dismounted. “Kalyca, scout around, see if there is any way we can enter the temple. Make certain you remain undetected,” Hawen instructed the older of the two hunters. 

She nodded and vanished into the shadows of the forest. 

Mahvir followed the keeper and staggered a little on the dismount. “There is another way to enter the temple, Keeper. I hadn’t planned on going through the main entrance.” 

Hawen frowned. He nodded. “We’ll wait on Kalyca.” He turned to Mahvir. “Tell me more about the way you’re planning on getting around Fen’Harel’s people.” 

A fallen tree was close by. Mahvir settled himself there. “There are many secret passages strewed throughout the temple,” he started. “Each has a puzzle or piece of knowledge associated with it. It took me years to figure out where most were as well as the key to unlock two of them. Unfortunately, the two we are going to be taking will only circumvent the main entrance and main passage to the lower levels.” 

It was only the partial truth. There was a third passage which would lead them right into the chambers where the People would either be greeted by him or one of the sentinels. Still, a few of the sentinels weren’t dead and were guarding the main section of the temple after the trials to prove loyalty to Dirthamen. It was for the best not to anger them even if he was Dirthamen. 

Hawen nodded. “I take it these puzzles are complex?” 

“One is writing in our language and the other is complex to say the least.” Mahvir bowed his head. “Then, generally, from what Deshanna learned from the Inquisitor, there are trials set up to honor the creator in question. It is best for the both of us to be here, Keeper. Our combined knowledge will hopefully see us through the trials without disrespecting whatever ancient elvhen we may find beyond.” 

“You’re saying some might still be there?” the warrior asked, her gaze intense with interest. 

“Inquisitor Lavellan reported encountering Mythal’s sentinels when he went into the Temple of Mythal,” Mahvir explained. “If any of Dirthamen’s remain, they will have sealed themselves into the very heart of the temple to survive the flood.” 

Hawen let out a small breath. “I am uncertain if I am excited at the prospect of meeting our ancient brethren.” He paused, eyes narrowed in thought. “Is there a chance they would side with Fen’Harel?” 

A small smile twitched at Mahvir’s lips. “I find it unlikely, Keeper Hawen. Our history does say there was rift between Fen’Harel and the other creators. Sentinels, from what I’ve gathered, are very devote to the creator they serve. If Dirthamen didn’t get along with Fen’Harel or support him near the end of Elvhenan, then there is nothing to fear from them joining with the Dread Wolf. All we need to worry about is a chilly greeting or them looking down on us for not being from their time.” 

A small breath escaped Hawen. The keeper nodded and turned his attention to their surroundings. 

The scents of the forest were clear and sharp. Sun light danced across the ground from the slightest whim of the breeze. The only sound came from the song of birds and shifting of leaves pushed by the breeze. 

Then, the softness of footsteps against the ground. Mahvir straightened just as Kalyca appeared. 

“They have the entrance covered,” she informed them. 

Mahvir pulled himself to his feet. “Then we have a little walk ahead of us.” He led them deeper into the forest. 

“Are you certain about this?” the younger huntress asked. “That there’s another entrance?” Her gaze lingered on his back. 

“ _I don’t like that girl, and that’s me actually being honest. Damn girl will make me into a spirit instead_.” Deceit glared at the girl from her perch atop Mahvir’s staff. 

“ _Yes, because honesty is your opposite_ ,” Mahvir teased the demon. She was one of the most honest demon of deceit he knew of. Sometimes. “There is another passage into the temple. It is just well hidden.” 

Mahvir stopped before an ancient tree. 

“This isn’t even close to the temple though,” the young huntress pointed out. Her lips curled. “Are you messing with us?” 

“ _Da’len_ ,” the keeper scolded. 

Mahvir gave them both a small smile. “I assure you, this is correct.” He turned to the roots. There was as small gape between two of the massive roots. He slipped between it. A jolt shot through his bad leg. He let out a low breath. He landed in a tunnel. Dampness clung to the dirt walls.

He stepped aside moments before Hawen slipped through. The keeper straightened and took out his staff. A soft glow illuminated the space. 

The warrior and two hunters followed. “What is this place?” Kalyca asked. 

“It will lead us to an entrance into the temple,” Mahvir started. He moved down the narrow passage. The passage gradually slopped downward. The air still held a dampness to it even as the walls turned from dirt to stone. 

The passage ended in a dead end, or so it would seem to the others. 

“What?” the younger hunter growled. “This is a dead end. Are you trying to waste our time?” 

Mahvir ignored her. His traced his fingers over the stone. The marks his fingers made were characters in elvish spelling “Dirth.” 

“That should do it.” He stepped back. A soft light flashed where his fingers had traced. 

A grinding filled the air. The stone started to slide aside. Water rushed out and filled the passage so it just covered his boots. At least this part of the temple hadn’t been too badly flooded. 

Mahvir moved into the temple proper. The passage exited into the slave quarters. A shiver raced through him. Slaves were the matter which had never sat right with him. He had done his best to treat the slaves working within the temples well, but his followers didn’t always do so. If he hadn’t had slaves it would have drawn the ire of the other seven. Even Mythal had slaves in order to avoid the brunt of Elgar’nan’s ire. 

The temple looked just as Mahvir had last seen it, dreary. Water covered the stone walls in the thick coating of slim. It sloshed around his feet as he moved further into the temple. Plant growth covered the once barren walls. 

There was no sign of Fen’Harel’s people within the slave quarters. Though, this didn’t come as a real shock. Most would have been in the central chamber. They had, after all, uncovered the stairs into the lower level, the passage which would lead into the main temple. 

“This way.” Mahvir gestured for the group to follow him. He moved through the chambers and out into another aspect of it. He managed to clamber over a fallen tree which had been easier to jump when he and Deceit had been fused as the Inquisitor. A blank wall lay ahead of him. 

“This is another dead end,” the younger huntress pointed out. She peered into the room to their right. “As is the room next to us.” 

“The last ‘dead end’ got us into the temple,” the warrior pointed out. “I believe Shartan knows where he’s leading us.” 

Mahvir knelt. Tension was starting to grow in his lungs. The tightness would only worsen the deeper into the temple they went. He pressed one of the stone bricks. It slid a little into the wall. The start of a complex puzzle.

“That should do it.” Mahvir managed an even tone as he stood. His breath rasped a little from the strain. Dampness was never good for his poor breathing. 

He tapped the last stone the end of his staff. 

A soft grinding filled the air. The stone pulled back. It slid to one side, revealing a dark passage. Mahvir bowed a little and gestured for the others to enter first. 

They moved passed Mahvir and into the passage. Hawen was the only one to pause until Mahvir moved. The two of them crossed into the side passage together. 

Mahvir tapped another stone to one side of the passage. 

Gears ground as the wall started to close behind them. A soft _thud_ filled the air. 

He winced. The sound would have resonated through the temple. “We must keep moving,” he advised the others. “I doubt the sound went unnoticed.” 

“Agreed.” A soft light filled the passage from the tip of Hawen’s staff. His eyes glittered in the light before moving to inspect the passage. A small breath escaped the keeper. 

Gold lined the passage in the form of the patterns all temples shared. While there had been a mural in the upper chambers to Falon’Din, this one just held gold. The lower parts were devoted completely to Dirthamen. There was more wealth in this passage than all the clans had put together. 

Grim and muck clung to the gold, staining it green in several locations. 

Mahvir started forward. Hawen at his side for the light on the tip of his staff. 

“We should have brought torches,” the young huntress complained. 

“The temple is flooded lower down,” Mahvir informed her. “Torches won’t do us much good.” 

The damp air pulled at Mahvir’s lungs. Time magic, if one could really call it that, flowed through his lungs, slowing the effects. It would help, but it wouldn’t stop the difficulties breathing, the further down they traveled. 

The passage sloped downward turning to set of square spiral stairs. Their pace was slow as Hawen matched Marvir’s slow movements. The keeper kept one eye on him. 

“Ugh, we would be down by now,” the young huntress muttered. 

“Quiet,” Kalyca snapped. 

Mahvir’s fingers ran along the side of the passage to help as he moved to the next step. “Go ahead,” he managed to rasp out the words to the young huntress. 

Hawen nodded to her. “You two should scout and see if any dangers lay ahead.” 

“Of course, keeper,” Kalyca nodded. She raced ahead. The younger huntress hard on her heels. It left Hawen alone with Mahvir and the warrior. 

Hawen didn’t speak though it was clear he wanted nothing more than to help Mahvir down the steps. 

It wasn’t long until the three of them joined the two huntresses at the bottom. Water rushed around their ankles showing some of the flood from the last time Mahvir had been down here. This passage had been dry the first time, but when he had opened it some of the water had rushed in along with the undead. There was nothing but bone left from that encounter. 

The passage was a “dead end” as the younger one had kept pointing out. She stood still now though, listening. The pause bought him time to pull out one of his herbs and breath it in. The tension in lungs eased. He would need his breath for the next leg of the journey.

“Do you hear that?” she breathed. 

A small sound could be hear through the blocked passage. The small trickle of water was broken by the shifting of stone. 

“It appears the main passage caved,” Mahvir voiced. “It should buy us an hour or two if we’re lucky.” 

“Would the dread wolf send more the clear the passage faster?” the young huntress asked, her eyes glittered in the light from Hawen’s staff. 

“You underestimate the patience of an ancient elvhen.” Mahvir moved through the grimy water towards the sound. It marked the wall which would open into the main temple proper. “Keep in mind, Fen’Harel won’t be informed of another group until later.” 

“They would have sent someone to investigate the noise of the passage,” the warrior pointed out. 

“True.” Mahvir hit a stone with his staff. There was no puzzle on this side of the passage. He stepped back. “Either way, the only company we’ll have for a time is the undead.” 

“A lovely thought,” muttered the young huntress. 

Stone ground as it moved back towards him. The sound was muffled now thanks to the flood. Water rushed into the passage. It whipped around their legs and swirled up just passed their knees. 

The volume had increased in the last few years and thanks to the main passage being unlocked. 

Mahvir wadded into the main passage. He pushed the bone and muck aside with his staff. 

Deceit snapped her beak at the movement. She took to the air, struggling to gain height in the still air of the damp temple. 

“ _Scout ahead_ ,” Mahvir instructed her. “ _See how many of the undead will greet us_.” 

Her only reply was a soft snap of her beak before she vanished into the darkness. 

Movement. 

Mahvir drew his ironbark dagger. The blade flashed. It sliced through rotten flesh. Ichor gushed from the neck of an undead. 

Flames raced passed Mahvir and struck the undead figure. A soft shriek filled the air, muffled by water, as the creature stumbled. It fell back into the flooded water. 

Hawen rushed to Mahvir’s side, staff at the ready. Flames flickered in his free hand. 

“We should move forward in a formation,” Mahvir stated. “Warrior at point, then Hawen and myself and hunters in the back to guard the both the rear and the front with range.” 

“Agreed.” Hawen nodded to his clan members.

The warrior took point. 

Kalyca moved in behind Mahvir and Hawen while the younger girl moved backwards through the water to keep an eye on their rear. 

They started to move. 

Undead leapt from the shadows or from the depths of the murky water. 

The warrior lunged. Her shield slammed into those before her. 

Mahvir pivoted on his good leg. His dagger a blur as he slashed at those which came towards him. He balanced entirely on his good leg. 

His staff trailed water. 

_Thwack_! The sound of wood against flesh filled the air as he slammed the staff came down on another of the undead. 

Flames engulfed the undead before Mahvir. Lightening followed on the other side. 

Hawen tossed his magic to both sides. 

“How many of these bloody things are there?” screamed the young huntress. 

“About a hundred, I would assume,” Mahvir managed a soft reply. 

“Keep pushing forward,” Hawen ordered the warrior. 

She gave a mighty cry and shoved the undead back. Her blade slashed them other as they staggered away. She leapt forward through the water and drove her sword into the next before whirling around and slamming her shield into another. 

Mahvir forced himself forward. He struggled against the deepening water, lungs tightening as he tried to fight and move. He gasped, forcing air through his closing airways. His blade struck another undead. 

The water was almost to their chest when the undead started to back away. The air hummed with a forgotten magic. 

Hawen let out a breath. “There’s a barrier here. An old one.” He glanced at Mahvir. “I doubt there are more undead here.” 

Mahvir nodded. He focused on his breathing, taking slow deep breaths. 

The warrior moved so she was watching behind them for the undead. 

Deceit returned and landed on Mahvir’s staff. “ _There is a small space without water ahead_ ,” she informed him. “ _I could only just flap my wings to make it through. Beyond lies the passage into the trials and it’s closed. More wards round it. They will know we’re here the moment the doors open_.” 

“We’re going to have to swim a ways,” Mahvir gasped out. He turned and started to wade deeper into the temple. 

Any reply the keeper had was drawn the moment Mahvir had started to move. 

“ _You’re going to have to fly, Deceit, I need my staff_.” 

Deceit snapped her beak. She took to the air and vanished into the shadows beyond the light of Hawen’s staff. 

Mahvir felt the water deepen when he found a small set of steps. There was narrow passage just wide enough for a raven’s wing span but nothing else. 

“Should I go first to check it out?” the huntress asked. 

“Go,” Hawen told her. His gaze then rested on Mahvir. 

The girl jumped into the water. She swam with her head up she got through to the other side and called back. “It’s safe,” her voice was distant. The water is gets shallower on this side.” 

“ _Ma serannas_ , _da’len_!” Hawen called to her. He turned to Mahvir and Kalyca. “We will have one swim on either side of you,” the keeper informed him. 

Mahvir glanced at the passage. He wanted to protest and say he could manage, but it was a long swim to the other side. 

“Kalyca stay at Shartan’s side,” Hawen instructed. “I will be just ahead. We have to go single file.” 

“All right, Keeper.” Kalyca moved to Mahvir’s side. 

Hawen wadded into the deeper water. “Follow close.” His staff was on his back now, giving off enough light they could just see some what lay under the water. A statue could just be seen, broken and with plant life clinging to it. 

Mahvir followed behind Hawen he pushed himself off the steps and into the water. His lungs strained with the first struggled push through the water. Heat shot through his bad leg and arm. They moved too slow to help. His head dunked below the water then up with a thrust from his good arm and kick of his right leg.

He coughed up the foul water. 

“ _Hahren_.” Kalyca swam to him with ease. She took his left arm and supported him. She thrust them forward with her legs and free arm. 

The speed sent Mahvir under again as he arm and leg couldn’t keep up with the thrust. He rose, coughing. “Slower,” he gasped. 

“ _Ir abelas_.” She pushed them forward again. This time he managed to help keep them both afloat. 

Their progress was painfully slow. They were only half way when Mahvir felt his lungs close. He gasped, fighting for air. 

Water rushed up over his head as his body grew heavy and struggles weakened. 

“Keeper!” the shout was muffled by the water flooding Mahvir’s ears. 

The huntress dove after him. He was aware of her grabbing him; then another. Air exploded around him. Something slammed into his legs. He was aware of stone and water pulling at his clothes. 

“Breath, Shartan.” 

Pressure pressed again against his chest. 

The light of healing magic filled the air. 

Water erupted from Mahvir’s lips. He gasped, pushing air through his thin airways. His fingers fumbled over the lip of his bag. He pulled out herb and managed to get it to his lips. He breathed it in. 

A cough escaped him as air slammed into his lungs. He straightened. “ _Ir abelas_ ,” he rasped. 

The soft clink of water logged armor filled the air. 

Mahvir looked up to see the warrior had made it through as well. 

He took a deep breath and glanced around. He was seated with his legs still into the water. They had made it to high enough point no water was ahead where grand doors lead into the trials of Dirthamen. 

“ _Ma serannas_ for saving me,” he bowed his head to the keeper and huntress. 

The keeper let out a low breath. “Hopefully leaving won’t be as hard.” 

It wouldn’t be. 

Mahvir lifted his staff and used it to start to stand. His entire body shook with the effort. So much for being useful. 

“Easy.” Hawen helped him up. 

“We’re almost to the trials,” Mahvir rasped. He nodded towards the dark passage. His arms felt as led. Hawen supported him. 

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” breathed Kalyca. “We’re almost there.”


	6. Trials of Dirthamen

Pain pulsed through Mahvir with each limping step he took. Hawen and Kalyca flanked him while the warrior had moved to the front of the group. 

“Do you need to rest, _hahren_?” Kalyca asked with a quick glance towards Hawen. 

Hawen nodded to show he was also concerned with Mahvir’s slowed pace. 

“It’s been almost an hour since we got down here,” Mahvir rasped, the words pulled at his throat. There was no time to rest. They needed to enter the centurial chambers before the last of the ruble was cleared. 

He tried to move faster but only slowed as his lungs started to close once more. Fenedhis! If he was healthier this would have been so much easier. The others wouldn’t be held up because of him. 

Useless. 

He was being utterly useless. 

The young huntress snorted. “Outside of the secret passages, why is he here, Keeper?” 

“Acacia,” the keeper called the young girl to order. His eyes flashed in the light of staff. “There is time to spare, _hahren_.” Hawen stopped in the passage. They hadn’t made it far. “You should rest.” 

Mahvir hesitated then consisted. “A short break then.” He limped to the side of the passage and leaned again the wall. Exhaustion collapsed down upon him. “ _Deceit, see if there are wards around the door. We’re being watched_.” He had felt eyes on them from the shadows since they had exited the water. 

“ _Slave driver_.” The soft, almost strained wing beats followed the words. Deceit’s white feathers flashed in the darkness before she vanished down the passage. 

Acacia paced while Hawen joined Mahvir at the wall. The keeper looked as exhausted as Mahvir felt. This trip had been far from easy on him and Mahvir wasn’t making it any easier by coming with them. 

“Acacia, if you must expend energy, scout ahead after Shartan’s raven.” Hawen’s gaze locked on the young huntress. 

She huffed. “Fine.” She raced off down the passage. 

“Walk!” Kalyca shouted after her. 

The sound of racing footsteps echoed back to them. It was enough to show Acacia hadn’t listened to the older woman. 

The warrior grunted. “ _Lenen_ never listen,” she muttered. 

“True,” Hawen chuckled. “You’ve had your hands full with the _lenen_ under you as of late, Nitsa.” 

She laughed. “I do believe all of us have been, keeper, what with Fen’Harel returning and promising glory and riches to sway the young ears of the clan.” 

“The young are often swayed by pretty words woven together,” Mahvir stated. “Everyone, no matter the age, however, wishes for a better life than the hand dealt them. The promise of our ancient empire is enough to have moved many to his side.” 

Hawen bowed his head. “None should heed the word of the trickster wolf.” 

Mahvir straightened. His breathing had started to ease and his leg was only growing stiff. “It’s best we keep moving.” He started forward, managing a quicker pace than before. 

They had made it part way down the hall when Acacia raced back towards them. “Keeper, there are set of doors at the end of the passage. The raven is waiting there, but the doors are sealed. I couldn’t see anyway to open them.” 

Hawen glanced at Mahvir. “Lead the way, _da’len_ ,” he gestured towards Acacia. 

She started down the passage once more. Her pace quick yet not so fast she was out of sight of the light on Hawen’s staff. 

“ _Dirthy, the sentinels sealed the doors from the other side_ ,” Deceit informed him. “ _The only gape is the one meant for myself and the oaf_.” 

Their group came to the doors. 

Hawen let out a breath. He stepped up to the massive doors. Designs laced the door in a far simpler display than those Mahvir had seen in the temple of Mythal. Granted, Mythal’s tastes were very different from his own. 

“To see pieces from Arlathan intact like this is a rare sight,” the keeper breathed. “I wish the others were here to see this.” He reached from the door. His fingers never made it to the door, stopped short by a magical barrier. He frowned and lowered his hand. “There is a barrier around the doors.” He glanced at Mahvir. 

“There were a few similar barriers within the temple of Mythal from what Deshanna has told me.” He glanced around. There would be no way to unlock the doors from this side. There never had been. 

The only way to gain access from this side was to have the favor of the sentinels or of himself. 

He took a step back. “There.” His gaze locked on the small hallow above the door. It was flanked by two ravens caved from the stone around it. “My raven might be able to fit through there and open the doors from the other side.” 

Deceit snapped her beak. “ _Might, **might**_!” her eyes blazed, feathers fluffing. 

“She’s just a bird,” Acacia scoffed. 

“Ravens were said to be Dirthamen’s,” Nitsa pointed out. 

“True,” Kalyca nodded. “Perhaps its meant to be opened by a raven to show favor to Dirthamen.” 

“She’s a dumb bird!” Acacia protested. 

“ _Dumb_!” Deceit launched off her perch towards the girl. Her talons extended. 

“Stop!” Mahvir snapped at the demon. 

Deceit veered. 

Acacia shouted in shock when one wing brushed her. 

“ _That girl_ …” Deceit landed on Mahvir’s staff. 

“Open the door,” Mahvir ordered Deceit aloud so all could hear him. 

Deceit glared at him. “ _Fine, but you owe me one of Vair-Vair books_.” She leapt into the air. “ _Especially after putting up with that brat._ ” She tucked her wings and dove through the passage. “ _Gross, it’s not been cleaned in centuries. SPIDER_!” A loud alarmed caw echoed from the passage. 

“ _Keep going or no book_.” 

“ _Ew, ew, ew_!” The sounds of her rustling and complaining caws soon faded to an echo. “ _Finally_ ,” her voice echoed to Mahvir. 

A soft click sounded. The barrier flickered out. A creak came from the doors as they opened. 

Nitsa took the lead, hand on her sword hilt. 

Mahvir and Hawen moved after her with Acacia and Kalyca bringing up the rear. 

The light fell over a raven statue situated behind the door. Deceit was perched there preening her feathers. She shook herself and shot a glare at Mahvir before she returned to her grooming. 

Once Kalyca was through, Deceit took off from her perch and moved higher to continue to groom. The barrier returned to the doors as they closed behind them. A dull thump filled the air. The dust rose around their feet in a soft cloud. 

Mahvir coughed, feeling the heaviness in the dusty room. 

Acacia jumped a little and looked behind her. “Will the dread wolf be able to get through that?” 

“He will find away,” Mahvir answered. “I doubt he cares much for preserving this temple.” Unlike how he had wanted them to honor Mythal. Not that Mahvir would have skipped the trials. The sentinels made for far greater allies than adversaries. 

A soft blue glow appeared to one side of the room. Mahvir turned. Sure enough a figure now stood upon a dais. 

“Is that a demon?” breathed Acacia. She shivered. “What’s it doing?” her hand moved to her bow, ready to fight. 

“It’s neither a spirit nor a demon,” Mahvir informed her. “It’s something close, bound to this place for the purpose of the first trial of Dirthamen. Or so I would assume.” 

Hawen stepped up onto the dais behind Nitsa. Mahvir used his staff to boost himself up. The two huntresses were the last to follow. 

The moment they were up, it spoke, “ _Welcome_.” 

Hawen glanced at the others. It was speaking elvish. 

“Welcome,” it repeated in common, “have you come to pay respect to Dirthamen?” 

“Yes,” Hawen answered. He moved to the front of the group. In the light of the spirit like being, he appeared almost as a child, awed at the sight before him. 

“A test of your knowledge is required to proceed. Answer three questions correctly and you may enter the next chamber.” 

Hawen glanced at Mahvir. 

Mahvir stepped forward to join the keeper. It was unlikely the keeper could get the first question right. No matter which of the random ones were drawn. 

“At the dawn of Elvhenan it was June who built the eluvian, but who was it who originally broke through with the theory and abilities of the eluvian, designed them and passed the designs on to June to build?” 

Hawen blinked several times. He opened his mouth and closed it before looking at Mahvir. 

It was rare to have a question related to Dirthamen during these trails. Mahvir could have laughed at the irony of it but kept the laughter on the inside. 

“Out of the nine,” Mahvir muttered then louder said, pretending he didn’t already know the answer, “Dirthamen?” 

“Correct. Dirthamen was well known for magical theory.” 

Hawen let out a small breath. 

“Second question: after the fall of the Forgotten Ones which of the nine started the construction of Arlathan?” 

“June,” Hawen answered without hesitation. He glanced at Mahvir. “Right?” 

“I believe so.” 

“Correct. June wanted to build a place where the people would be safe and forget the war. He designed and built Arlathan with little aid from the others.” 

“This is fascinating,” Hawen smiled. 

“Final question: the great empire of Elvhenan was destroyed by whom?” 

“The imperium,” Hawen answered. 

“Hmm,” Mahvir frowned. “That’s a trick question. It was destroyed twice.” 

Hawen frowned and looked at him. “It was?” 

“The Imperium destroyed the ruminates of Elvhenan after the creators were sealed, but the empire was barely getting back together by then. Fen’Harel destroyed it the first time during the war between himself and the other creators. Thus, there are two answers to this question.” He looked at the spirit. “Which are you meaning?” 

The spirit didn’t answer except to say, “Correct. Fen’Harel destroyed the world when he created the veil to seal away the others. The imperium destroyed the rebuilt city of Arlathan and the remaining empire centuries later.” It bowed to them. “The way is clear.” 

The doors opened to permit them heading to the next chamber. 

“Our people destroyed ourselves?” Hawen asked as they moved passed the spirit towards the door. 

“There were stories passed down about the wars between the creators,” Mahvir stated. “To seal the others away, Fen’Harel would have to have destroyed the world to do so. It is most likely why his recreating of Elvhenan will destroy this current world and everyone in it.” 

Hawen nodded, frowning. “The answer was right, so it must be what happened.” 

“Fen’Harel destroyed Elvhenan?” Acacia breathed the question. “But if that’s true; then why would he want to recreate it?” 

“Guilt and shame are powerful motivators,” Mahvir replied. “It can make one do something foolish in the vainest hopes it will undo the original mistake. But the past cannot be rewritten or undone. The desire to do so, is the desire to forget all the People had suffered, accomplished, and lost. 

“There is only moving forward, only seeking a tomorrow where the people can be free. Not the past and not the world of the past.” 

Acacia bowed her head, pace slowing. 

Hawen glanced at the girl. 

They moved into the next chamber. It was the second of three. 

This one was trial to show what the devout valued most. A stone slab dominated the center of the dreary space and two pedestals were placed on either side of the next door. 

Hawen moved up to the stone, Mahvir limped up beside him. “There are six here,” Hawen muttered. His hand fell over the book which rested there. He lifted it. The cover cracked as he opened it. 

“It’s empty!” 

“ _Of course it is_ ,” Deceit mocked. She had followed them through a passage in the wall meant for the ravens to pass through without trouble. 

“Keeper!” Nitsa called from the door into the next trial. 

Hawen moved to her side and leaned over the pedestal. “In this hand rests the secret,” he seemed to struggle with reading what was written there, though Mahvir couldn’t blame him. 

Mahvir limped over to the one on the other side of door. “In this hand rests the value,” he read. He moved back to the slab and dusted off the writing over the objects. “Find which rests in hands of the keeper of secrets. Where does one place value? What secrets can be held?” 

Hawen moved back to the slab.

“That makes no sense.” Acacia scowled 

“It does,” Hawen answered, eyes bright. “Remember your teachings, _da’len_?” 

Acacia looked at the table. “But…” She lifted a small object and cleaned if off. A small gasp escaped her. “It’s gold!” 

Hawen took it from her and replaced it on the table. “And not the answer to this trial. Perhaps one to Falon’Din, but not Dirthamen. Remember, _da’len_ , Dithamen is not only the keeper of secrets, but was said to have taught us value in family.” 

“‘In this hand rests the secret,’” Nitsa quoted. “Could it be the empty book?” 

Mahvir moved to another of the items there. He lifted it. It was a flat, plain piece of ironbark. A small carving was placed into the wood.” 

“That’s ironbark,” Kalyca stated. “Is that elvish on it?” 

Hawen moved to look at what Mahvir held. He took it in his hand. “I feel as if the veil is very thin, but only just around this piece of iron bark.” 

It was a fade rune, a matter only Dirthamen and his followers had knowledge of. “In this hand rests the secret,” Mahvir pressed. “I doubt a blank book is much of a secret. Unless it was written in invisible ink.” 

Hawen turned the wood in his hand. “I agree, but this seems a little strange.” 

“It doesn’t need to make sense,” Mahvir told the keeper. 

“What about these?” Acacia had picked up a rune stone. 

“It’s a fire rune,” Mahvir stated. “Dirthamen isn’t really known for being the god of fire.” 

“And this?” She lifted the jeweled necklace. 

“Again, wealth and greed,” Mahvir pointed out. “The same as with the gold. Leave it.” 

She huffed. “We could buy months’ worth of food and clothes with it though.” 

“Only if you want to be trapped in here forever, _da’len_.” Mahvir gave her a stern look. 

“Fine.” She set down the two items. “But the last item is just a carving of a child.” 

“‘In this hand rests the value.’” Nitsa frowned. “Children are rare for our people, and highly valued, but he was the one to teach family.” 

“And family isn’t always blood,” Mahvir reminded her. 

Hawen nodded. He lifted the statue. “I trust your judgement.” He set the piece of ironbark on pedestal and the statue on the other. 

A soft glow came from both before the doors opened. 

“ _Finally_ ,” Deceit huffed and flew through the door into the next chamber. 

They followed after the raven. The final trial was a literal puzzle. It was already broken into many tiny pieces on the stone table. 

“Put back together and you will have earned the favor of Dirthamen,” Hawen read the writing over the table.

Mahvir joined him at the table. 

“We need to put this together?” the keeper frowned and looked at the jumbled mess. 

“If we work together it won’t take us more than an hour or so.” 

Hawen nodded. 

They started by sorting the pieces. The puzzle hadn’t been hard to Mahvir for a very long time. However, he wasn’t one to talk here given the fact he was the original creator of this puzzle. 

With Hawen’s aid, it took him a little longer to put it together than if he had been working on it by himself. Still the help was welcome. They spoke only to help in solving each piece while the others paced or sat around the edges of the room. 

An hour passed before the final pieces were left on the table. 

“Fen’Harel’s group will be on its way now, right?” Acacia asked. 

A soft click filled the room as Hawen put in a piece. 

Mahvir did the same on his side. 

“Most likely,” Mahvir answered. 

“And we cleared out most of the undead, right? So, they’ll get here pretty fast.” 

The last piece was on the table. 

Mahvir let Hawen put it in while he turned to the girl. “Yes. But they will still have to contend with the trials or blow open every door to get through them.” 

“Why didn’t we do that?” Acacia demanded. “We wouldn’t have had to waste all this time on pointless questions and puzzles.” 

“It would have shown great disrespect to Dirthamen.” Hawen glared at the girl. “Am I to believe you want us to lose our religion as well as our homeland and history?” 

“No,” she muttered, “but it would have been faster.” 

“There is a right way to go about this mission,” Mahvir told her. “And this was it. If we blasted our way through and sentinels of Dirthamen are still alive, we would have been attacked by now.” 

“Oh.” 

Hawen placed the last piece. “Now, let’s see what else is left.” 

The door opened. 

Hawen took the lead this time with Mahvir bringing up the back with Kalyca. “Her intentions are good,” Kalyca whispered to him, “but I wish she saw the other gods in the same light she does Fen’Harel. Same with the rest of the lenen.” 

“We can only be patient with the young and pray some of your teachings stick.” 

She smiled. “I suppose.” 

The next room was massive. There was no balcony in the room as Mahvir had seen in Mythal’s only raven statues with the largest flanking a space at the far end. There was cut out in the wall between the birds where the priest would have sat or Dirthamen himself if he was in the temple at the time. 

It had once held cushions and pillows but was now bare stone. Scorch marks scarred the stone on either side of the room. Each mark in a line with the strokes of a weapon akin to a staff.

 _Thud_! 

The room shook as the door slammed shut behind them. 

A shiver raced through Mahvir. He didn’t need to turn to know a few sentinels now stood behind them. A few had weapons drawn. Others, moving in from the shadows had their hands resting on hilts or bows. 

“ _Venavis_!” a clear voice sounded from the figure who slipped from the shadows near the two raven statues. The voice was female, the figure slight despite the armor and robes covering her form. The armor she wore looked the same as the sentinels of Mythal only the color had changed to a richer purple with the robes being black. “You shouldn’t be here. Who are you? How did you get passed the wards?” 

The dalish shifted closer to one another. “We have shown no disrespect to Dirthamen.” Hawen took a brave step towards the woman. “We’ve completed his trials.” 

The woman gave a sharp, scoffing breath. “Those are far from the wards I speak of, quick child.” 

Mahvir limped forward to stand level with Hawen. “We come with Dirthamen’s favor.” 

Deceit landed on top of his staff. 

The woman’s gaze, hidden by the shadows of her hood, seemed to flicker over Mahvir, taking in the raven. “I see. A raven led you. Why have you come?” 

“Fen’Harel has woken,” Mahvir explained, choosing his words with care. “He seeks the knowledge of this temple and will stop at nothing to retrieve it.” 

A few whispered in elvish. “ _He’s alive_.” 

“ _Be silent_ ,” the woman hissed at the man who’d spoken. 

“My companions and I seek to stand against Fen’Harel. We implore you for your aid in making certain he doesn’t take any knowledge from this sacred place.” Mahvir bowed to the sentinels. “I implore you, ancient ones, to aid us in this endeavor.” 

The woman hesitated. “Your words sound of truth.” She bowed her head. “Very well. Our master would never wish for his knowledge and secrets to fall into the Dread Wolf’s paws.” She paused. “I believe he would take pleasure in knowing his knowledge returned to the People.” 

“Atisha,” the man stepped forward. 

She flicked her hand at him in a dismissive gesture. “Watch for the wolf’s forces, Vir, I will escort them to our master’s chambers.” She turned. “Follow.” 

The sentinel set a slow, smooth pace through a door to their right. It led into a side chamber. More signs of an ancient battle echoed here. The walls were scorched and scared from hot flames. A dagger was embedded deep into the wall near the door. The cloth long since gone leaving only the metal behind. 

“What happened here?” Acacia turned to inspect the room as she followed them. She moved to one of the daggers. Another had been imbedded in the ground and a few could be seen high in the ceiling. 

She knelt and touched the hilt. A small grunt came from her as she tugged. The dagger didn’t budge. 

The sentinel stopped and huffed. “Don’t bother, the knife was thrust through time. None but Dirthamen could remove it.” 

Acacia frowned as she stood. “But what happened?” 

“Falon’Din happened,” the sentinel didn’t elaborate as she continued across the room. “This way.” 

Mahvir continued moving, only taking in the damage with a glance. It was all too easy for images of the past to press down on his vision. Falon’Din stood across the room, scythe drawn. Flames danced around him as he twisted it in an elegant display of power. 

Heat. 

The sound of flames and metal. 

Mahvir leapt back, drawing his throwing knives. He threw them, speeding them up through time itself. 

Mahvir forced back the images. It was further in the past than even Andraste’s death. The events between his twin and himself unfolding less than a month before Mythal’s death. It had been the start of the end. Elgar’nan manipulating Falon’Din and the others. Events which led up to Mythal’s death which then led to Solas’s actions to sunder the Fade from the mortal realm. 

“Falon’Din happened? That doesn’t answer the question!” 

“Acacia,” Kalyca whispered to the girl, “we shouldn’t press for answers. Not now.” 

Curiosity glimmering in Hawen’s eyes as he inspected the room. He didn’t pause to ask questions though and continued after the sentinel. All of it vanished into wondered as they entered the chambers. 

“Creators,” Hawen breathed. He walked as if in a dream towards the shelves lining one side of the room. The shelves reached the celling and were packed with books. “I’ve never seen,” his words trailed off as he pulled one of the books, almost reverently, from the shelf. He held it almost as one would a baby and let the book fall open in his hands. 

The other three Dalish stood in silent wonder, eyes wide as they stared at the amount of lost history before their eyes. 

“Dirthamen was one of the few who refused to use the later methods to record teachings, theories, and thought. He handwrote everything and his followers were the ones to transfer them into the _Vir Dirthara_ ,” the sentinel explained. “This is only a portion of my master’s works.” Her light blue eyes grew pained. “The rest was lost during the fall of Elvhenan. Centuries of knowledge, gone in the blink of an eye.” 

“If I might ask,” Mahvir started, “may we take the books and whatever else Fen’Harel can use, with us?” 

The sentinel nodded. “I will gather a bag or two.” She paused. “My sentinels will join you,” she stated. “With the last of our master’s knowledge going with you, there is nothing left for us here.” She left them. 

“Just one or two bags, to carry all of this?” Acacia gestured at the wall. “There’s no way.” She shook her head. 

A few of the sentinels entered the room. “Atisha told us to aid you in gathering the books,” the lead of the two stated. 

The other moved to the bookcase. He moved to the top shelf and started to pull the books down. The one who had spoken took to gathering those lower with the aid of Nitsa. With the aid of the sentinals they wouldn’t be in here for long. 

Hawen traced some of the letters of book he was still looking at. 

“Keeper,” Mahvir started as he limped over to the keeper. He placed his hand on Hawen’s shoulder. “There will be time to look through these when we return to the clan.” 

The keeper hesitated. He let out a small breath and nodded. “All right.” He moved to aid the others. 

Atisha returned with a bag. “You two,” – her gaze snapped to the two huntresses – “help me gather the books in this bag.” 

“All of them?” Acacia demanded. 

“Yes, all of them.” Atisha’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the young huntress. 

“But, how will it fit in that tiny bag? There’s just no way.” 

Atisha let out an annoyed breath and muttered something in elvish which sounded like she was calling the girl ignorant. She lifted the books which were quickly pilling up at the bottom of the shelves from the other sentinels and placed them into the bag. They vanished within, leaving no trace of ever having even entered the bag. 

“W-what is that?” Acacia asked, eyes wide. 

“An infinity bag,” one of the other sentinels explained. “Your companion carries one as well.” He tilted his head in Mahvir’s direction. 

Mahvir moved a little passed Hawen to help the keeper in gathering the books. His bag was still wet, but he felt the inside was dry and safe for the books. He slipped a few into the bag. 

Hawen frowned. “How are they made?” His eyes glittered as if the keeper could just see the uses for such bags. 

“Only Dirthamen could make them,” the sentinel who had told them what it was explained. “From my understanding of it, master would weave the thread and it would be sown such that it created a pocket demotion where any amount of items could be stored.” He shrugged a little. “You got through the trials, then you must have seen the Fade rune on the iron bark, right?” 

“So that was what that was,” Nitsa mused. She started to help gather the books as well. 

“But if only Dirthamen could make them, then how did Shartan end up with one of the bags?” Acacia frowned. 

“Very carefully,” Mahvir replied. 

The shelves were slowly being cleared. Mahvir set down his bag so Hawen and Nitsa could continue to load more books into it. He moved over to Atisha. 

“Is there anything else which Fen’Harel might be able to use?” His voice calm almost even. 

“This way.” The sentinel moved off. “The rest of you continue working on the books!” she barked the order over her shoulder. 

She led Mahvir through a gape in the wall which had once held clothes to sperate this room from the main chambers. The next room held a shallow pool. The clear water was untouched by the flooding in the temple beyond. There was no flow in or out of cave. Below the surface, he could just make out the soft layers of algae growing over a beautiful, smooth stone. 

“ _It’s good to see you again, master_ ,” Atisha whispered in elvish once the two of them were out of earshot of the group. “ _Am I right in assuming you don’t wish the children to know you’re really Dirthamen_?” 

Mahvir bowed his head. “ _You are_.” 

She nodded. “The last item of concern is our master’s Foci,” she informed him in common. She knelt down. The part of the wall slipped aside to reveal a small hole in the wall. She pulled out an orb and wiped her hands as no doubt she had touched rotted cloth.

It had been centuries since Mahvir had seen his orb. It was dormant right then and he had no desire to try and activate it. Doing so would be the surest means of Solas learning another was awake and here, moving to counter him. 

“Let’s go,” he whispered to Atisha. He didn’t make to grab the foci, letting her carry it back into the other room. It was, after all, the most powerful artifact here. She would have to keep it from the children as well, lest one rip apart the very fabric of time instead of just ripping a hole in the Veil.


	7. Echo of the Past

The last of the rubble was just about cleared. 

Solas stood at the top of the stairs which would lead into the very heart of Dirthamen’s temple. The light which still emanated from the torches the others had lit below. 

The sound of water filled the air as it dripped and ran down the sides of the passage. The sight was closer to the temple Solas had visited during its construction. He could still remember going to speak with his nephew, to try and convince the gentle, kind hearted boy he could remember, it was madness to let their people see them as gods. 

After all, this was the very first temple of Dirthamen. The one with most secrets and echoes of them which whispered still through the ancient halls. Yet, Solas had no way to know if this was still Dirthamen’s main temple. There was much about his second nephew even he didn’t know. 

Out of all the others, Dirthamen had been the one to keep to himself. He stayed out of the wars with the others for the most part, unless one of the others threatened him or his people for the knowledge they all knew Dirthamen possessed. 

This didn’t mean Dirthamen was any less innocent than the other six. There was little that had happened back then Dirthamen didn’t know about or have a hand in. Despite avoiding war with the others, it didn’t mean he hadn’t been the one to spark it in the first place. 

From what Solas’s spies had gathered, Dirthamen had always manipulated the situation for his own reasons. Solas suspected to this day those reasons had been personal gain. The foresight of Dirthamen was unnerving. Out of the other seven who had sown the death of Mythal all those centuries ago, Dirthamen was the only one Solas had truly feared fighting against. 

Not because nephew was a powerful mage. Quite the contrary, Dirthamen had been the only none mage among the _evanuris_. Yet, he did have abilities. 

Solas hadn’t lied to the Inquisitor when he had said he’d never seen that kind of time manipulation before. He hadn’t. But time magic was another matter entirely compared to the curd methods employed by the imperium. Dirthamen’s control of time was centered around himself and no other. It hadn’t caused it to unravel upon use. Rather it had sped his nephew up through time allowing him to move at speeds unmatched or throw items through it so it would strike faster and harder. 

This wasn’t why Solas was here. Dirthamen’s Foci would prove useful, if it were hidden here, but the real reason was for the knowledge and secrets Dirthamen had gathered. His nephew hadn’t been able to use even the most basic of magic, relying upon his abilities and mind to do the work or craft theories the others could then use. This meant there was a chance real physical books remained from Dirthamen. In one of those books had to be a key piece of information Solas was missing to recreate the anchor. 

“Sir,” one of Solas’s agents moved up the passage. He was drenched and breathing from the work of clearing the passage. “The passage is now clear.” His eyes gleamed. His face was marked with the _vallaslin_ of Falon’Din. A staff was placed on his back and he wore Dalish robes. 

Solas nodded. “Very well.” He started down the steps. Movement sent a wave of pain through him. A familiar pain he had felt each time he was too far from the last body Mythal had been in. The power he had taken from Mythal had helped, but in the same moment, his body was unused to it. It was only a matter of time and he had needed the boost. To help his people. To undo his mistake. 

His bare feet slapped against wet stone. There was an eeriness about this place after so many centuries. There had been something about Mythal’s temple which had still held some of its old magic. A feeling of a familiarity about it. This, it just felt wrong. Dead, silent. None of the old magic lingered here. 

This might have had something to do with Dirthamen’s lack of affinity towards magic or what had transpired here at the fall of Elvhenan. 

The water rose just up to his knees as Solas came to the bottom of the steps. He pulled his staff and let the light fill the area. The light bounced off the drenched walls of the once beautiful temple. There were less displays of wealth here than he had seen in Mythal’s temple. This was more than a little shocking. All Solas could see were golden statues of ravens and not even all of them were done in gold. 

He waded further in, skimming the area. 

It wasn’t too hard to picture the last time he had been here. It had been one of the few days Dirthamen had been without his twin brother Falon’Din close to him. He had stood within this very temple, dressed in dark robes, long hair falling down his back as he worked on some theory or another he had at the time. 

On that day, Solas had learned none of his family were willing to go against what the People viewed them as. He had lost Dirthamen to greed and hunger for power as surely as all his other nephews and nieces. 

Solas paused. 

A corpse floated in the murky water. A few arrows stuck from its chest and neck. 

Solas moved towards it and touched the arrow. 

“My lord?” The sound of the young mage following came to Solas. It was followed by the others who had cleared the rubble. 

Solas ran his hand up the shaft, feeling the feathers. This was a resent kill. Perhaps a few hours old. He pulled the arrow from the corpse. 

“The kill is fresh,” Solas informed the group. 

A small breath came from the mage beside him. “I know this arrow,” breathed the child. 

Solas passed the arrow to him. “Explain.” 

“This notching here,” – he pointed out a few of the notches where the arrow head met the shaft – “only my clan’s craft master does this.” 

This meant there were members of the People from Hawen’s Clan down here. Hawen had refused to join with Solas’s group when a few of his agents had gone to the old keeper. He was far from the only one among the Dalish. 

Still, Solas hadn’t expected to run into members of Hawen’s clan here. Especially given the passage had only just been uncovered. There weren’t many who knew the back passages through the temple outside of Dirthamen’s sentinels and Dirthamen himself. 

How had the clan gotten down here ahead of Solas’s group? He turned to the young mage. 

“I-I don’t know how anyone got down here,” the boy stuttered a little at the sight of Solas’s eyes. “We didn’t even come down until you arrived, and no one went this far. We just went far enough to finish clearing the rubble, my lord.” 

“There is no way the clan could have learned the secrets of this place,” Solas whispered to himself. He skimmed the area and wadded forward. 

There were more corpses. A few showed signs of being struck with magic. Others were bashed by a shield and slashed with a sword. But it was the ones which displayed the signs of a dagger wound which drew his eye. The strikes were keen and precise. There was something familiar about the twist in the slashes which reminded Solas of the Inquisitor. The wounds were such that it had been done by one dagger. 

The Inquisitor had left Skyhold after disbanding the Inquisition. There had been reports of him going off on his own and none of Solas’s spies knew what had become of the man after that. Had Mahvir gone to Hawen’s clan? No matter, the man couldn’t unite the People to stand against Solas, no matter how hard he tried. There was too much between the city elves and Dalish. 

There were many who didn’t trust Solas even among the city elves and especially among the older members of the Dalish. 

“ _Da’len_ , how many mages are left in your clan?” Solas asked without turning to the young mage. 

“Just Keeper Hawen should be left. The first before me died and the other mage in our clan ran off on his own and was killed by demons. It was only by stroke of the creators we happened to four mages in our clan instead of just three,” the young boy informed Solas. “Why?” 

“These were killed by a mage.” Solas gestured to a few. “Do you believe Hawen is here?” 

“I don’t know. It would take a lot for the keeper to leave the clan,” the boy confessed. Unease glittered in his eyes. He shifted, appearing uneasy when it came to talking about the clan he had left to help Solas. 

Solas nodded and started through passages. Shadows shifted. It was enough to tell not all the undead had been beaten by the group ahead of them. There was also no telling how much of a head start Hawen’s group had on them. 

The undead leapt from the shadows. 

Solas’s eyes burned. 

The undead turned to stone and fell into the murky waters. The water steadily deepened. 

Solas felt them pass through an ancient magical barrier. 

The boy shivered. “What was that? It felt old,” he breathed the final word with a shudder. 

“A few of Dirthamen’s sentinels must have survived.” Such a fate was worse than if they had died in the flood. To continue in service to their master for all eternity when Dirthamen would never return to them. 

Yet, there wasn’t one source of Dirthamen’s power as there had been for Mythal’s. At least none Solas or even Mythal had known about. Dirthamen guarded his secrets and power far more closely than all the others had. Still, if there was a source of his knowledge, the knowledge kept by all his priests and priestesses it would be within this temple. 

Solas waded deeper into the water. His staff cut through the gloom to show a narrow passage ahead. He remembered it being a part of the ceiling before and the dip below having been a gathering point for those waiting to undergo the trials of Dirthamen. Little gold glittered under the murky water. It was as if Dirthamen had an aversion to showing his wealth. 

No, not an aversion. Rather instead of gold, Dirthamen had adorned his halls in rich silks of deep purple dye. The tapestries showed as much wealth as the gold had just wouldn’t have lasted the centuries as well as the gold. 

Solas pulled himself from the water. The fur dragged him down with the weight. He ignored it and continued forward through the gloom. There was no sign of Hawen’s group. Nothing to show they had made it this far and no signs they had died either. 

It wasn’t long before he drew to a stop before the massive doors which would lead into the trials of Dirthamen. The only sign someone else had passed through here was a slight disturbance into the barrier. 

“How are we going to get through, Lord?” asked the young mage. 

Solas lift his hand. He hesitated. There was a chance if he didn’t blast his way through he could sway more of his people to join with him. Yet, Dirthamen had sided with his father at the fall of Elvhenan. He had killed Mythal and fought alongside the others to stop Solas. It was unlikely the sentinels would even give Solas a chance to explain why he had done what he had done to their master. 

Pain twisted his heart. More of his people killed just like that. It was for the cause of undoing his mistake. 

He lifted his hand. The stone moaned before the doors were blasted from their hinges. Dust clogged the air as more stone tumbled to the ground in cascade. The massive doors had slammed into the stone ravens just beyond. The barrier before the door flickered before vanishing. It left a hint of magic lingering in the air. 

Solas strode across the threshold and into the room of the first trial. He had never seen the actual trials. The visit he had made here had led him through another tunnel or he had come into the temple through the eluvian. The eluvian to this temple had been destroyed. It had been his first thought on how to reach the lower levels and main section of the temple. 

He stepped up onto the dias. The spirit waited there. The heaviness grew in his heart. Dirthamen had bound a spirit to this place to act as the first trial. It had lingered here, waiting for centuries. Even if it was a piece of knowledge rather than a full spirit, it was still cruel beyond measure. As cruel as when he had learned his nephew had bound a spirit of fear and deceit to him and kept them with him for the rest of his days. 

Solas moved passed the spirit to the door. He lifted his hand. Once more the door was blasted off its hinges. 

Solas forced himself to press on through the next room and the one which followed. This wasn’t a betrayal to Dirthamen. After all his nephew had betrayed him long before now by siding with Elgar’nan. His once kind nephew was long gone. 

His heart flickered. It wasn’t true, not entirely. Dirthamen had been there at his mother’s murder. He had a hand in it. Still, there was nothing more which Solas remembered of Dirthamen during the war which had followed. 

The group exited the trials into the chambers beyond. The lingering sound of settling dust was all which greeted Solas’s ears. He skimmed the area. There was no sign of the sentinels. 

Odd. 

Solas took a soft step forward. It could be they were hiding in the shadows far better than Mythal’s had been. This was, after all, Dirthamen’s sentinels and not Mythal’s. Only dust stirred as Solas moved through the room. There were signs others were there. The slightest change in the dust on the ground. 

Perhaps Hawen’s group had made it this far. Given there was no signs of their bodies it had be so. Solas quickened his stride. 

The next room held hints of lingering magic. Spells cast with intent to kill. A battle had taken place here centuries ago. Solas frowned. 

There was something more. The temple was too quiet.

*~ _Mahvir_ ~*

Mahvir straightened from where he had been helping load the last of the books into a bag. A sound trickled to him. Distant, but there. It was the clanging of a striking a stone wall. They were out of time.

“The dread wolf is coming,” Vir informed them as he rushed into the room. “We need to go now. It won’t be long until he’s here.” Vir rushed over to the bookshelf and shoved the last of the books into a bag. 

“Is there another way out of the temple?” Hawen asked. His gaze moved to Atisha. 

A small frown appeared on her face. It pulled at her vallaslin. “There is one. It shouldn’t have collapsed.” 

Vir’s eyes brightened. “You mean the one master built for,” he cut off at Atisha’s sharp look. 

“Yes, that one.” Her gaze flickered back to Hawen and his group. “I am assuming you’re a mage?”

Hawen bowed his head. “I am.” 

“Take the lead with me to light the way.” She turned to a few the sentinels. “Vir, gather the bags.” 

Vir huffed but didn’t complain. He did as she asked. 

Solas’s group was moving ever closer to them. They needed to leave now. Mahvir pulled himself to his feet. His body shook with the effort. It had been a mistake to sit down and help with the lower shelves. He took a deep, struggled breath.

“We need to go now.” Vir’s hand slid over his bow. 

Atisha barked a few orders to the sentinels before she gestured to Hawen. The two of them took the lead. 

Mahvir took a step to follow. Fire lanced through his leg. He kept moving, though his pace was far too slow. It wasn’t enough. He gritted his teeth, forcing his steps to quicken. He wouldn’t be a burden on the clan or the sentinels. He wouldn’t let any of them attempt to stay behind just to protect him. 

The passage out of the temple lay just beyond the room they’d been in, more towards the pool. 

“What was that pool used for?” Acacia asked. 

Atisha opened it and ducked in. Hawen was only a step behind. Mahvir waited for the rest of the clan to go. He glanced at the sentinels. All of them looked at him. 

Mahvir moved into the passage. Dampness clung to the ancient stone. It pulled at his lungs until they felt laden with the wet weight. Mahvir forced air into his lungs and kept moving. He dared not slow for the sentinels could easily make a fuse. All of them had recognized him as Dirthamen and not one of the Dalish. 

Pain tingled through his leg. The air was drowning his lungs with dampness. Mahvir forced himself forward. Each step jolted through his body as a flame cracking wood. The gap between Mahvir and Acacia, who he had been following, grew with each step he took. He placed all his weight on the wall each time he placed weight on his bad leg. Cool sweet coated his face. 

“Master?” Vir breathed Mahvir’s old title. 

Mahvir shook his head. “Go,” he rasped the words, “ahead.” The books Vir carried were far more important than Mahvir. If the sentinels and Hawen’s group left him, Mahvir would be able to catch up later by slowing time. 

“What?” Vir almost growled the question. “You can’t be series,” he slipped into elvish. His voice dropped to less than a whisper, so soft only Mahvir could pick it up and this was only by repeating the words several times through time itself. “Couldn’t you slow time on yourself?” Vir’s eyes glittered, his lips turned down in a frown. 

Mahvir shook his head. He was already slowing time on himself. Anymore and it would have a far nastier result. “I’m fine,” he stated and forced himself forward. There was no way Vir or any of the sentinels would have let him drop behind. Not even when they were attempting to pretend he wasn’t Dirthamen. 

Mahvir kept his focus split between trying to keep pace and his sight on Solas. Solas had entered the chambers minutes after they had entered the passage. Solas’s features were contorted with frustration, eyes narrowed, a scowl playing at the corners of his lips. His eyes flashed as he inspected the room. He instructed his people to fan out and search for anything which might remain. 

Solas himself moved to search for any sign of a passage they could have gone through. He wouldn’t find it. Still, they needed to keep up this fast pace. 

Mahvir staggered out into fresh air behind the others. His breathing eased though he was still forcing air through narrowed pipes. “We need,” he started, each word strained, “to return to camp and pack up.” 

Hawen nodded. “If Fen’Harel figured out we were the ones who took the books,” the keeper trailed off, features pale. “The harts shouldn’t be far.” He glanced at the sentinels. 

There were too many of them to join them on the harts. 

“We can keep pace.” Atisha showed them a necklace she wore. “Our master gave us tools to move quickly.” 

“Very well,” there was a note of uncertainty to Hawen’s voice. He didn’t question Atisha and instead lead the way to where the harts had been left. 

“ _Deceit_ ,” Mahvir instructed the raven, “ _make certain we’re not being followed_.” 

“ _Fine_.” Deceit snapped her beak and took off from the hart’s antlers. 

The trip passed in a blur of activity. Mahvir kept half of his sight on Solas even as he focused on his breathing while seated behind Hawen. It took all of his physical strength to not fall off the hart. Most of this “strength” was coming from time manipulation. The same magic as the sentinels now used to keep pace with the harts. 

The trees fell away to the fields closer to the dalish camp. Water spray up around them as the harts bounded through the stream and up into the camp. 

“Keeper.” The clan _hahren_ rose to greet them. 

“We need to pack up camp now!” Hawen slid from the mount’s back. “Recall all the hunters,” he ordered the hunters and warriors who remained in the camp. 

Mahvir followed the keeper in the dismount. He staggered on hitting the ground. His hand moved to his chest, breathing strained. The clan needed all hands to help pack the camp and all Mahvir could do was stand there struggling for air. 

He pulled out one of the planets and breathed it in. This did little. His airways cleared some, but it wasn’t enough he could make himself useful to the clan. 

“Master,” Vir moved to his side. 

“Help the clan,” Mahvir whispered the instructions to the sentinels around him. “And, please, continue to pretend I am not your,” – bitterness filled his mouth – “master.”

Only Vir bowed his head while the others moved off to aid the clan. 

“Head for the keeper and clan _hahren_.” At Vir’s confused look, Mahvir specified, “The woman Hawen is speaking with.” 

“Right.” Vir headed for the two. He glanced behind him at Mahvir as he walked off. 

Freed from the eyes of the sentinels, Mahvir leaned against the hart. He focused on evening his breathing. 

“ _Hahren_.” 

Mahvir opened his eyes a slit to see Egeril standing before him. 

“Come, you must rest in the warmth of my _aravel_.” 

Mahvir opened his mouth ready to protest, but he cut himself off with a glance at the busy clan. He was being useless out here. He might as well be useless in the healer’s _aravel_. 

“ _Ma serannas_.” Mahvir bowed his head to her. 

It wasn’t long before he was seated in the warm _aravel_. The feeling of the _aravel_ moving off soon followed his arrival within it. Mahvir leaned against the wall and let his sight wander away from Solas and his group. There was no threat coming from Solas’s group right then. Without being able to follow through the passage they had taken to escape or enter, it would take well over a day for Solas to pick up their trail and this was assuming Solas wouldn’t rather try another tact at getting the information he needed. 

“ _Dirthamen_ ,” a voice trickled into his mind. It was Fear. 

“ _That was fast, did you meet with clan Lavellan_?” 

“ _I did. She agreed to meet you in Ferelden near Denerim_.” 

“ _My thanks, Fear. Join Deceit in keeping an eye out for Solas_.” 

“ _If I must_.” 

The soft sound of feet against wood and his foresight allowed Mahvir to see Hawen, the clan _hahren_ , and Atisha had all entered the _aravel_. 

“Shartan,” Hawen started as he settled himself across from Mahvir. 

Mahvir opened his eyes. 

Atisha stood near the entrance into this section of the _aravel_ while the clan _hahren_ settled herself beside Hawen. 

“Keeper, what do we owe the pleasure?” Egeril asked as she moved from the small section which held her bed into this one. 

“We need to discuss where we’re heading next.” The keepers gaze moved from the clan healer to the _hahren_ before coming to rest on Mahvir. 

“I have a few contacts in Ferelden,” Mahvir informed them. “As long as your people have no qualms with joining up with our kin in the cities, they will prove to be valuable allies.” 

“I have no objections,” the _hahren_ gave him a soft smile. 

“Nor do I,” Hawen spoke as if the words were a strained breath. “It is necessary to match Fen’Harel’s strength after all.” 

Mahvir bowed his head. “ _Ma serannas_ , Keeper Hawen.”


	8. Creator's Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having some fun with Dirthamen's abilities during this chapter.

Whispers of the traveling clan filled Mahvir’s ears even as night lay thick over them. Conversation leapt out from the flickering candlelight of the _hahren_ ’s _aravel_. The words intermixed with Hawen’s and few of the sentinels. Mahvir’s sight let his minds eye leave the healer’s _aravel_ to see what was happening in the _hahren_ ’s. 

Hawen and the _hahren_ were seated on the _hahren_ ’s bed. Atisha and a few of the sentinels were either seated in the space or standing. Atisha knelt before the bags close to the _hahren_ and keeper. 

“These were really written by Dirthamen?” the _hahren_ breathed. She lifted one of the books, the touch gentle, other hand brushing the cover with reverence. Her eyes glittered. 

“They were,” Atisha confirmed. 

The book fell lightly open in the _hahren_ ’s lap. Her eyes lit with excitement as breath fled her lips. “Oh, my. It’s so rare to see so much written elvish.” She traced the letters. “And so much is still legible.”

“Oh, master was good with persevering knowledge,” Vir straightened, puffing out his chest. “You won’t find any of the other creators taking such precautions with their stashes of knowledge. None of them had nearly as much foresight as our master does.” 

“What was he like?” Hawen tore his gaze from the book on the _hahren_ ’s lap. His gaze was intent as he looked at the sentinels. “What were all of the creators’ like?” 

Vir leaned back, frowning. “I’ve only really seen the other creators when going with Atisha and Master to meetings. The only other one was Falon’Din who visited our master often.”  
Atisha hissed, lips curling at this. “Don’t mention that traitor’s name.” She straightened. 

“There is so little known about any of the creators.” Hawen looked at the group of sentinels. 

“Then,” – Atisha bowed her head to the keeper – “it would be my pleasure to tell you about our master.” 

The keeper and _hahren_ exchanged glances, smiles on their faces. The years melted from them, it was as if they were the children and the sentinels had just given them greatest of all treats in the world. 

“Please,” the _hahren_ leaned forward, her hand resting on the cover of the book. 

Atisha leaned back against the wall of the _aravel_. “I suppose the best place to start is how all of us became his sentinels. It is, after all, how we first met him.

“Every one of the creators has away of binding their sentinels and priests to them. Most of them took it to a physical bond, making it impossible to disobey or harm the creator they had chosen to serve. Dirthamen and Fen’Harel were the only two who didn’t go about these means.” Atisha laughed. “Granted the dread wolf didn’t have priests or sentinels.” 

“Our master had another way to ensure our loyalty without resorting to us binding our very lives to him.” Vir grinned. “He raised us.” 

The keeper and _hahren_ glanced at one another. “What?” 

“Dirthamen would leave his temple for great lengths of time and wander among the People. None would recognize him during this and he was always searching for children who were unwanted, who had been abandoned or those who had lost their family.” Atisha’s eyes softened. A small smile played at the corners of her lips. 

Images flickered over Mahvir’s eyes. The moments he had first seen Atisha and the memory of her confusion, fear and later love. 

“Master took all of us from bad situations and raised us as if we were his own children.” A small breath escaped Vir. 

“Not all the children he raised stayed on as sentinels. Many left the temples while only a few of us remained in his service. 

“To many outside of our group, Dirthamen preferred to keep to himself. We knew he spent most of his time away from the temples with the people. No matter the kindness he showed the people, he was always spoken in the next breath to Falon’Din, always the one forgotten in the wake of his twin’s strength and achievements.” Atisha’s grip tightened eyes flashing. 

“Our people always speak of Falon’Din and Dirthamen together,” _hahren_ Evania informed them. “There are many legends and stories passed down on how they never wished to be apart.” 

“When our master was younger he was always beside his twin,” Vir informed them. “Our master wasn’t the strongest physically nor could he use the same magic as the other creators. Rather his own power rested in time itself. Falon’Din used to act protective of Dirthamen.” 

“Near the fall of Elvhenan this changed,” Atisha continued. “Falon’Din didn’t come by our master’s main temple as often. More times than naught he sent out his own forces to try and capture more territory or gain more followers through shows of force. Then came the day he attacked our master.” Atisha gripped her arm. “That day our master told us not intervene, he had seen the moment was coming and didn’t want any of us harmed in a fight between him and Falon’Din. 

“He told us his full plan before Falon’Din arrived at the temple. There was little chance our master could win in an all-out battle between himself and Falon’Din. Those daggers you saw imbedded into the ground and the scorch marks on the walls of the temple are scars, echoes of their fight.” Atisha’s eyes glittered. 

“Our history tells us Dirthamen was sealed away with the other creators by the dread wolf. Was he?” Hawen asked. 

“I doubt it.” 

Vir glanced at Atisha. “Our master wasn’t part of Mythal’s murder,” he informed them. “Falon’Din had tried to kill our master before the others moved against Mythal and sparked the war between them and Fen’Harel. From what our master told us of his plan, he would have manipulated Fen’Harel’s memory to make it appear he had been there as well. Something about the future where Fen’Harel blamed all of them for Mythal’s murder was a far better one than if Fen’Harel knew the truth over all the events unfolding back then.” 

“Our master left us so he could move without notice by the others. Fen’Harel would believe Dirthamen sided with Elgar’nan, while Elgar’nan would believe Falon’Din had been successful and killed his twin. None of us knew fully what our master planned to do, but it is unlikely the creation of the Veil sealed our master away with the others.” 

Hawen frowned. “A creator was murdered?” 

“In a sense. Mythal didn’t truly die. None of the nine can, but her physical form was killed, and she exists now in other forms. I don’t know what she’s passing as now.” Atisha shrugged. “I don’t plan on looking for her either. It’s unlikely we’d find her as it is. The dread wolf would have sought her out already.” 

“What do mean by the creation of the Veil? The Veil has always been there?” The _hahren_ glanced between the sentinels. 

“It hasn’t been. It was what the dread wolf created to seal away the others.” 

“Then why do you think it’s unlikely Dirthamen got sealed away?” 

“Our master can see all possible futures, the choices and roads which lead to them and more. He knows what is happening everywhere at any given moment, each sense enhanced until he hears, sees, feels, and knows everything from the past, present, and future around the world. If he was sealed away, then it was because he knew it would lead to a better future for the people than the one where he wasn’t.” 

“It’s for this reason we believe he wasn’t sealed with the others,” Vir informed them. “There isn’t a future I can think of where the people wouldn’t need Dirthamen or he couldn’t help in someway to guide them to a slightly better one than one which lay before them without him there.” 

“So, if he wasn’t sealed, you’re saying he would help us to stop Fen’Harel?” Hawen eyes lit as a smile appeared on his face. 

“He most likely has already started to move against Fen’Harel if it is in the best interest of the people and the world, which it is. No one will be able to tell it’s him though if he is acting and I doubt he would want anyone to know it’s him.” 

“Why not?” Evania demanded. “The people would rally under Dirthamen far more quickly than under any other.” 

“Our master never liked being viewed as a god,” Atisha confessed. “It’s why he traveled often among the people as one of the people rather than making it known he was there. He covered his face if he met with those who worshiped him so only his eyes could be seen so he could continue to walk among the people. The people are his family, his world, I doubt he would ever want them to worship him again.” 

“But we do worship him.” 

“Not his physical form,” Atisha pointed out. “You worship him as a god.” 

“It would explain why prayers to him go unanswered,” Hawen let out a breath and rubbed his eyes. 

“ _Ma serannas_ for telling us more about Dirthamen. Even knowing he might still be out there, watching over us, is enough.” Evania smiled and bowed her head to the sentinels. “I hope you’re right and he is aiding us even it is just from the shadows.” 

Hawen took one of the scrolls from a bag. “We should try to translate some of these. There might be something in one of the books to help with the situation the people are in. Even if there isn’t then we will at least learn more about our history.”

Movement drew Mahvir’s attention from the _hahren_ ’s _aravel_. He opened his eyes a slit, a small breath escaping him. His heart twisted. He had never wanted Atisha or the others to wait for him. To be driven to do so and yet they had. 

“Forgive me, _hahren_ , I didn’t mean to wake you.” Egeril’s shadowy form came into focus through the darkness of the _aravel_. 

“I wasn’t asleep.” Mahvir pushed himself into a sitting position. 

“You weren’t?” The healer knelt before him. Her hand was soft as she touched his forehead. “You’re not too warm? Too cold?” 

“No, I’m fine,” Mahvir assured her. He would rather she fuse than worry over the idea she had woken him. “I rarely sleep,” he informed her even knowing she wouldn’t take this well. 

“What?” The healer’s eyes widened. “I can mix something to help you sleep.” 

Mahvir lifted his head. “It’s fine, _da’len_. Please, don’t worry about me and continue with what you were doing.” 

“But—”

Mahvir touched her hand. “The clan needs you and the medicine you were preparing.” 

The healer let out a small breath. “Very well.” She stood. “Try to get some rest.” 

“I will.”

*~ _Cassandra_ ~*

Cassandra glanced up in time to see a raven land on the window. A letter was clasped in its beak. It had to be a reply to the letter she’d sent Mahvir. She had given him the location of where the new Seekers were training and requested he come by in order to start discussing how best to stop Solas.

Cassandra crossed to the raven and took the letter. The letter was addressed to her in Mahvir’s familiar narrow script. She opened the letter. 

_Dear Cassandra,_

_I am glad to hear the recruitment and training of the new Seeker order is going well. It sounds as if you have found yourself great allies who will stand by you and the new ideals the order is being built upon. Maker given their training will go smoothly and Thedas will have a full Seeker order in a few years’ time._

_I regret I will be unable to join you at this time. I’ve traveled to join Hawen’s clan and they are moving away from the Dales. They have joined the side against Solas and thus must keep moving. I am staying with them in order to aid recruiting others of my people to the cause. One clan can’t stand alone against Solas, especially one clan which has lost members to Solas’s group already. I fear many of my people are moving to Solas’s side. It is unlikely many city elves or Dalish remain who haven’t already joined him._

_The plan is for me to continue on this path, aiding my people where I can even if I am useless in combat now. I can’t just leave them to be picked off by Solas’s people as they are the main target for recruitment._

_A new leader has shown himself to my people. I hope he can rally the People around him, uniting both city elves and the Dalish to stand against a common foe. If there is one matter my people will always agree upon whether city or dalish it is age is respected above all else. I only hope one legend can counter another in terms of respect. For the safety of my people I will not tell who this leader is. Forgive me, but I doubt the Chantry will be as understanding of him._

_I know I promised I would visit and see how the training the seekers is coming, but this matter is also of great importance and I don’t know when I will next be close to where you are._

_If it isn’t too much to ask, I would like you to speak with Leliana over the matter with Solas. My people will not be enough to stand in his path. Our only hope is to unite both a human and elven force against him. Perhaps even the dwarves, yet I know this would be asking too much as many dwarves have no interest in what occurs above ground. Perhaps between yourself, the divine, and Vivienne we can come up with a plan of action against Solas to protect our world._

_Send a reply with this raven. He will be able to find me no matter where I am._

_Maker watch over you,_

_Mahvir_

Not coming? Cassandra lowered the letter. It was a little early after the disbanding the Inquisition to have made the request, still she had assumed he was traveling back to be with his clan, not going to Hawen’s.

Cassandra looked at the raven. It looked like a normal raven to her and still there was no denying it wasn’t the one she had used to send Mahvir the letter. It didn’t have any of the markings on it which pointed it to being one of Leliana’s ravens. It looked wild, untamed, yet it remained standing on the window without moving. 

A small breath escaped her. “Stay here,” she instructed the raven. 

It just looked at her. 

Cassandra left the room she had been in and moved through the cathedral to where the Divine would be at this time. Divine Victoria was in her office as was expected to be seen at this time of day. 

“Did you hear back from Mahvir?” Leliana asked when Cassandra entered. 

“I did.” 

“I take it he’s not coming.” 

Cassandra fought against a scowl. 

“He did just head out himself, Cassandra.” 

A frown twitched where the scowl had been. “You knew he didn’t head for his clan didn’t you?” 

“No.” Liliena frowned. “None of the spies I have are able to even locate where the Inquisitor has gone. It’s as if he vanished after departing Sky Hold.” 

Cassandra blinked. Out of everyone she had assumed Leliana would have known where Mahvir had gone and what their former leader was up to. Even as divine Leliana had kept spies and a network. It had served her well and was one of the many reasons the assassination attempts had been unsuccessful. 

“Here.” Cassandra held out the letter Mahvir had sent her. 

Leliana took it. “He went to Hawen’s clan?” there was a note of surprise in her voice. 

“So it seems.” 

“A new leader?” Leliana frowned as she set down the letter. “My people gave a report of an elf dressed in rags entering Hawen’s clan. I wonder if this man is the leader Mahvir speaks of. My spies and myself didn’t pay it much attention at the time, but I wonder what Mahvir means by the Chantry won’t be as accepting of him as his people are.” 

“Do you believe it warrants investigation?” 

“I do. Cassandra, if you’re not too busy, I would like you to head for Ferelden. If Mahvir’s letter is to be believed, then Hawen’s clan must be heading over the frostbacks to get to Ferelden.” 

Cassandra hesitated. She was still training the new Seeker order, but this would be a good task for the group. They needed to discover more about what was going on with the elves, especially given one said faction of them was going to destroy their world in order to attempt to restore Elvhenan. 

“Very well. I will take a group over into Ferelden to see what is going on with the elves.” She glanced at the letter. “I doubt you want me to pass this information on to Mahvir.” 

“It would be for the best we don’t inform the former Inquisitor.” Leliana passed back the letter. “He’s loyalty is more towards his people than anything else right now. Even if this new group seeks to stand in Solas’s way, I don’t know if they will have good intentions towards humans or not.” Sorrow flickered in Leliana’s eyes. “I don’t like going behind Mahvir’s back like this, but until we know who this leader really is, we should move as if he is as much of a threat towards us as Solas is.” 

This wasn’t right. Mahvir had never treated humans poorly. In fact, he had always treated all races equally. There was always a sense of ease around him when he was with his own people, but if he had to judge an elf it would have been on the same level of fairness as a human. 

Cassandra nodded. “All right.” The words were bitter in her mouth. She stood. “I’ll prepare are few of my people for the journey and only send back a short reply to Mahvir so he doesn’t get suspicious I didn’t reply.”

*~ _Mahvir_ ~*

The air grew colder the deeper into the Frostback Mountains the clan traveled. Mahvir had been forced to stay inside most days. It didn’t matter which _aravel_ as long as he wasn’t outside. If he was outside for more than a few minutes Egeril would hear of it and track him down to get him back into an _aravel_ with all haste.

Mahvir let out a small breath as he looked over one of the books they had brought back from the temple. He was seated on the floor of the _hahren_ ’s _aravel_ with Hawen and Evania. The children had yet to come by for their lessons this day. Most likely they wouldn’t be by at all. The clan was traveling through a narrow pass which meant travel between _aravel_ s was being restricted to the healer, hunters, and warriors. 

“I don’t see what Fen’Harel would have gotten from most of these,” Hawen broke the silence. “This last book wasn’t even related to magic. It was a method to improve lives without the aid of magic. One which Dirthamen even noted at the end no one was interested in.” 

“During Elvhenan everyone was a mage or had magical talent,” Mahvir pointed out as he continued to pretend to skim the book open on his lap. This one was one of the later theories which had been used by June with a few of the cities. 

“But most of the books thus far are over either what people came to Dirthamen for, history, or theories which either saw implementation by June or were disregarded because there wasn’t a use for it,” Evania pointed out. She laughed. “Well, no use for it then. I can see many uses for the last one I ran across. It was rather brilliant.” 

“Same with the one I just finished.” Hawn spread the scroll on the ground so all of them could see it. There was a sketch of what looked to be an _aravel_ but the design was different. “This would improve upon our _aravel_ s greatly and uses even less magic than what we currently use to get them off the ground.” 

Evania frowned. “I’ve seen nothing in the history books I went through thus far which even pointed to the use of _aravel_ s in Elvhenan. I can’t imagine who would even be using them back then. So why are there designs for one be among Dirthamen’s personal collection?” 

“Didn’t Atisha tell us he could see all possible futures?” Hawen asked. “If so then perhaps Dirthamen saw one day our people would be traveling and living in _aravel_ s and this is away for him to try and aid us.” 

“Perhaps,” Evania conceded. While her tone reflected doubt her eyes glittered and the smallest hint of a smile could be seen on her face. She lifted another book. “But if Dirthamen really could see all possible futures, then wouldn’t he have also known we would lose our language? It would be nice if he had made a guide for our people to relearn our language. It would certainly make this task easier.” 

“Perhaps he did. We’ve barely made it through the books and there are hundreds of them,” Mahvir pointed out. 

“True.” Evania opened the book she held and blinked. Then she started to laugh. “Mythal’s mercy, what are the chances?” She held out the book so both Hawen and Mahvir could see the title, written neatly, in common tongue: A Guide to Elvish, Volume Twelve. 

Scrawled under the title was a note, also written in common: 

_My children,_

_If the future I see has come to pass, then this is the first book you will find. I understand our language has been all but forgotten in the wake of slavery and war. It’s my hope these guides will help our people regain a lost piece of our culture.  
To find the first volume, go to an infinity bag and just think of the item you’re after. The bag will do the rest and the book should come to your hand. If it’s the wrong bag try another. I designed the bags such that the object the user most needs or wants is the item which is the easiest to get._

_~Dirthamen_

It was weird to be reading a note Mahvir had left over two thousand years ago in the day he had seen it the book being found. A shiver raced through Mahvir. It was even odder to think a future he glimpsed so far off was now upon him. Such a future had felt distant but clear as if it had been the one most likely to happen. In the same instance he remembered it being a moment where he had seen countless others being able to find this book. 

“He knew,” Hawen breathed. “Creators, he knew.” Hawen took the book from Evania, face flushed with a grin and eyes shining. He appeared a child giddy at the sight of a new toy. His hands trembled as he traced the ancient note from Dirthamen. 

Evania moved over to the where the bags lay near to her bed. She knelt and reached into one of the bags. She waited a few moments before going to another bag. This time she let a small gasp. “It worked.” She pulled back and sure enough volume one was clutched in her hand. She settled by them once more. 

She opened the book. 

A letter fell out of this one. 

Evania frowned and lifted the letter. It was addressed to her. She blinked. “Did a creator really foresee so much?” she breathed the question. “If so why couldn’t he have stopped the enslavement our people?” 

“Creators might not be as powerful as you’re thinking they are,” Mahvir pointed out. “From what I’ve been gathering of this, Dirthamen’s power lay more where it would be useful for information gathering or more subtitle manipulations than in being able to fight to invoke massive change.” 

“Perhaps the letter explains more?” suggested Hawen. 

Evania opened the letter. Mahvir remembered clearly what he had written in it: 

_Dear Hahren Evania,_

_I am glad my books have found their way into the hands of a teacher. From you I hope the knowledge spreads and reaches all our people. While what has happened to bring this letter and you to the moment where you are is regrettable I am happy and proud of my people for making it this far and to one of the futures which is brighter and filled with the most chances for us to regain our footing in the world and, at long last, return to having a homeland._

_If this is the future I see, then Solas will be a grave threat against the world. The dread wolf once wanted nothing more than free our people and have nothing to do with what he believed to be false gods. Yet, truths are rarely so easily defined. Are we gods, perhaps in a sense we are. I know the nine of us are not fully Elvhen. The quickening will never affect Solas or myself or any of my blood family._

_The reason I am passing along this information is you can not kill Solas by normal means. Even unified as our people must become to stop him, we will stand little chance at killing him. A part of him would live on even after his physical form died. The best way to stop him is to subdue him or convince him this world is worthwhile and no matter how hard he tries the world of our youth is long gone. That he destroyed it long ago. Yet, despite his destroying it, perhaps this world is a far better one in the long run._

_Ah, but I am rambling, and I doubt you need to hear such things as the world is the only one you have known._

_The greatest chance at stopping Solas lies within the unity of all people: human, dwarven, elvhen, and more. Though such a reality would be unlikely to pass. It is for the best to make due with relying on the People and perhaps humans. I realize twenty centuries will have done little to mend the rift between humans and our people, but the world should be worth far more than holding to old grudges._

_It is also my wish to see knowledge relearned. Our people have been severed from their past for far too long. These books will help with relearning our language. The library, my personal one, also contains all the records I managed to record over our history. I hope it will answer questions which have been left open far too long. Please, I ask you share all this knowledge with other Dalish clans, as I believe you call yourselves, and with those known as city elves in your time. No matter where one is born, you are still all my people. All elvhen._

_Dareth Shiral,_

_Dirthamen_

Evania passed the letter to Hawen when she had finished reading it. 

“So, Fen’Harel’s real name is Solas.” A scowl appeared on the keeper’s face. “He was with the Inquisitor very time Mahvir came by. I knew there was something about that man I didn’t like.” 

“More importantly, we have new lessons to teach the _lenen_.” Evania ran her down the first volume of the guide to the elven language. “And new ways to relearn what has been forgotten. It sounds like Dirthamen recorded the history up until whatever happened at the end of Elvhenan.” 

“It does.” Hawen let out a breath. “I will need to speak with you,” – his gaze locked onto Mahvir – “Atisha and Nitsa when we are over the pass. We need to figure out how to stop Solas with new information Dirthamen has graced us with.”

Mahvir bowed his head. “It would be for the best.”


	9. Eth

Dorian looked out over Minrathous. The sun had set leaving only the soft glow of candles and torches to light the city. The elven crystal glowed in his hand while he waited for the Inquisitor and Iron Bull to pick up. It had been less than a week since his return to the Imperium. His heart longed to see both his lover and his best friend just one more time. Yet Bull would never fully be welcomed here and Mahvir was in the Dales. Both were so far away. 

Iron Bull had told Dorian once it had been Mahvir who had hinted Dorian was interested in him. A small smile twitched at the corner of his lips. Mahvir had been the one who had also told Dorian life was too short to have regrets such as not perusing the Iron Bull. Dorian had asked the man countless times if there was someone in his own life. 

The memory of the conversation trickled to the forefront of Dorian’s mind. Mahvir was seated at one of the tables in the library back at Skyhold. His shoulder length hair was swept back from his face and kept back by a combination of long, elegant pointed ears. 

Dorian settled himself into the chair across from the man. 

“You went for it then?” Mahvir set down the book his dark, purple eyes, ever knowing, locked on Dorian. 

Heat flooded Dorian’s face. “That obvious?” 

“You are smiling more this morning,” Mahvir explained. He leaned back in his seat. There was something about his features which looked as if an artist had sculpted them. His eyebrows were thin, perfectly shaped without even trying. His nose long and narrow. Coupled with high cheekbones and a narrow face, he was stunning. The only matter which bugged Dorian was Mahvir’s narrow chin. It seemed off for a face otherwise so beautifully built. 

“You said life is too short to have regrets, yet, you’ve never taken up any of the ladies or men’s offers.” And it wasn’t like there were a lack of offers coming Mahvir’s way. Even with dalish tattoo and his chin, he was stunning to the eyes many. Add in his build as a rogue and the last fell into place. 

Mahvir smiled. 

“Do you have someone in your life? Back in your clan?” Dorian pressed. 

“Once,” Mahvir’s eyes softened. “It was long time ago.” 

“You’re only twenty-five,” Dorian pointed out. 

Mahvir chuckled. His eyes sparked, making the purple light up even as the smile caused them to turn almost black. “Ten years can seem like an age at my age,” he joked. “It was a childhood crush, never went anywhere.” There was something dismissive in his tone. “I’m just glad you and the Iron Bull can find a moment of happiness in all this chaos.” 

“ _Kadan_ ,” a voice pulled Dorian from the memory. 

“ _Amatus_? Did the Chargers make it to the new job in Navarra?” Dorain asked. 

“Noble wants us to take down a group of bandits,” Bull replied with a heavy breath. 

“Let down?” 

“A little. It was great being back with the boss. There is always something exciting happening around him.” 

“I hope not, I could do with a little less excitement in my life,” Mahvir said in way of greeting to the two of them. 

“Boss!” Bull exclaimed. “Damn it’s good to hear both of your voices again.” 

It was good to hear them again. Now if only Dorian could be in the same room as his lover and friend. 

“I take it you made it back to Minrathous all right, Dorian?” 

“I did. How’s the dreary Dales treating you?” 

“Hmm. Hawen’s clan has crossed the Frostbacks.” 

“What? What do you want with cold of Ferelden? How dreadful to be back there.” 

“I have a friend in Denerim,” Mahvir explained. 

“Really? You never spoke of this friend before.” Dorian frowned, wracking his memory for anyone the Inquisitor knew in Ferelden. Well, other then those from the inquisition or those few contacts they had made closer to Redcliff. 

“Yeah, boss, who’s this friend and why didn’t we go to him before during that demon shit?” 

“He wouldn’t have been of aid back then, Bull. And I saw no need to bring him up or visit during the Inquisition. An army doesn’t go over well in an allienage.” Mahvir changed the subject, “How’s the Magisterium treating you, Dorian?” 

Dorian groaned. 

“That good?” Mahvir teased. 

“I can come and knock some heads for you, _kadan_.” 

“No, no, it’s fine, _Amatus_. Just not thrilled about being apart of it.” 

“Shame,” Mahvir stated. 

“Yes, real shame being stuck in doors doing paperwork day in and day out.” 

A small laugh came from the former Inquisitor. “Not what I meant by saying shame, ma falon. You have a chance few get to invoke real change in the Imperium. The type of change you wanted to see happen.” 

Dorian blinked. “ _Kaffas_ ,” he cursed. 

“Language,” Mahvir teased. 

“What? You just realized you have the power to change things?” Bull demanded. 

“More it slipped my mind.” 

Both Bull and Mahvir laughed at this. 

Heat crept over Dorian’s face. It made him glad neither could see him despite having wished to be in the same room with the two right then. 

Mahvir’s laughter cut off into a wheezing, harsh breaths. 

“You all right, boss?” 

Dorian frowned. 

“Fine,” the word came breathless over the crystal. 

The soft sound of door opening followed. “Bull, we’re ready to move out.”

“Shit. Listen, _kadan_ , gotta go.” 

“Be safe.” 

Bull laughed. “I’ll crush them first.” 

“I’ll count on it.” 

“Later, boss,” Bull said the last farewell. 

It left Dorian alone, so to speak, with Mahvir. “What would you suggest I do to start things off?” 

“Personally, pass laws to abolish slavery,” there was a sad note in Mahvir’s voice. It was also softer than before. “However, perhaps you should tackle something smaller first. The first step is to gain a following.” 

“I’ll start there then.” 

“Like the Inquisition did.” 

Dorian laughed. This was true. “Only it’s without you here.” 

“I’ll come by as soon as I’m able.” 

“You’re practically on the other side of Thedas right now.” 

“I never said it would be tomorrow,” Mahvir joked, though sorrow lingered in his voice. 

“I know I’m not easy to mess.” 

“Always, Dorian.” There was a short pause. “Maker be with you in your endeavor.” 

“And with you while you try to do whatever you’re doing.” 

“Thank you, Dorian.” The crystal went dark. It showed Mahvir put it away. 

Start to change the Imperium? Dorian looked out his window once more. There had to be a chance he could change things for the better.

*~ _Cassandra_ ~*

There were signs of a camp having been in this part of the Frostbacks. Cassandra jumped off her mount. Her boot crunched against the fresh snow. A bitter cold always hung over the Frostbacks.

“We’re following a Dalish clan, right?” one of her older recruits asked as he jumped into the snow to join Cassandra. 

Cassandra knelt by the remains of a small camp. There was nothing to show of a tent, only the chard remains of a bonfire. Fresh snow had covered any other signs outside of the fire. There was no telling if the dalish clan had traveled this way or not. This was the surest and safest route through the Frostbacks. It wouldn’t have followed for Mahvir to suggest another route to Hawen or for Hawen to have gone another route if they were taking their entire clan, children and elderly included. 

“We are.” Cassandra straightened and looked towards the far side of the pass. A few flurries of snow flitted down to her. She couldn’t see to the far side of the pass, but Mahvir and the clan had most likely already finished crossing the pass in the time it had taken for her seekers and herself to make it this far. 

A small breath escaped her as she returned to her mount. 

“When did they start across?” another recruit asked. 

“Long before we did,” answered the older one. “At least, if the remains of the fire is anything to judge by.” 

“But why are we tracking the clan?” The group started off once more at a steady pace. 

The older one hesitated as he glanced at Cassandra. “Most likely a threat to the chantry.” 

“Elves,” the younger one snorted. “I doubt they could do much.” 

“That’s enough both of you.” Cassandra cast a glare back at the two of them. Mahvir was an elf as were Sera and Solas. They were all formable opponents. Solas being an ancient elf was nothing to scoff at as well as the fact he now sought to destroy this world. Then there was Sera. Sera was a wild card archer and it was for the best to keep her on their side. Finally, Mahvir. Cassandra had seen him in far too many fights to ever underestimate him in battle even with only one arm. Sure he wouldn’t have all of the capability he had with both, but there was no denying his skills as a rouge. He had fought with stealth, poisons, and the keen eye which almost made her think he was three steps ahead of the opponent they had been facing. 

“Yes, ma’am.” The seeker recruit bowed his head. 

Silence fell over the group. The pass widened. Cassandra kicked her horse into a gallop. They were making good time even if the traces of the clan were growing scarce. She wanted to discover just who it was Mahvir believed could rival Solas as well as be unwelcome by the chantry. 

Going behind Mahvir’s back to learn this still felt wrong. The man had been a good friend and if he was true to his word as he had always been then this leader would be a good one. One Mahvir trusted, just had to be a good leader. Granted, Cassandra had never met the keeper of his clan or any of his friends back there. Especially the four he had spoken the most about when she could get him on the subject of his clan. He had spoken highly of the keeper, Deshanna, a man named Teren, another named Theon, and finally a huntress named Alaula. He also spoke of the very few children in the clan. Yet, it was never in detail. He had only spoken lightly about them and it was rare to get more than just glimpses into his life among the clan. It was as if he didn’t spend too much time among them or so she had gathered from what little information he had given her. 

Cassandra shook the thought from her. Mahvir was just Mahvir. There was no need to delve too much into what little she knew about him. He wasn’t a threat to the chantry and she doubted he would ever be one. 

Tracks started to appear in the snow, visible through the light dusting. 

“We’re getting close!” one of the seekers called over the wind. 

Cassandra slowed her stead. Sure enough over the rise she could just make out flickering flames and an araval. There was no sign of other _aravel_ or even a halla to pull it. Nothing but the fire and one _aravel_. 

Snow flew up around her legs as she dismounted. 

This wasn’t right. Her gaze skimmed the camp once more. Even from this distance she should have been able to see a few elves moving around the fire. 

“What’s wrong?” one of the recruits pulled up beside Cassandra. 

“We go in on foot,” Cassandra instructed. “Keep your weapons ready.” 

He nodded and dismounted. The younger recruit was only a heartbeat behind. Both pulled out their blades. 

The only sound came from the slight clanking of armor and the crunch of snow beneath their boots as they moved into the small camp. There was no sign of life. Only the flickering flames and the _aravel_. No sign of elves. Nothing. 

“It seems I lost the beat.”

Cassandra whipped around. Her gaze snapped to an elf seated atop the _aravel_. 

“I rather thought we would be followed by more than just three _shemlin_ , but it appears, as always, he was right.” The female elf smiled down at them. “ _Aneth ara_ , you must be Cassandra and her seekers. Mahvir has spoken highly of your tracking skill. He figured you would want to know more about the new leader and sent us with a request he had been passed by this leader.” 

There was something familiar about the way this woman was dressed. The armor spoke of an ancient elven design. The same armor Abelas had been wearing. Yet, it was different. Instead of golden in color, it was purple. The robes over it were black as the darkest night. The designs on her face mirrored those Mahvir had worn. As he had told Cassandra, they were markings to honor the creators. His honored the keeper of secrets, Dirthamen. 

The woman had said “us.” Cassandra’s gaze flitted from her to the rest of the camp. Sure enough, two others appeared from the shadows of the aravel also dressed in the same armor as the woman. 

“Who are you?” Cassandra put her guard up. “Are you one of Solas’s people?” 

“My, I think I should take offense to being called one of Fen’Harel’s people.” The woman leapt down. “I am Eth, one of Dirthamen’s sentinels. My master never agreed with Solas’s methods and thus, we have sided against Fen’Harel and with those who seek to stop him.” 

“Even if he’s trying to bring back your world.” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. They were evenly matched number wise. However, if Abelas’s group had taught her anything it was to never understate a sentinel. 

“I held no attachment to Elvhenan,” Eth informed her. “What about you two?” She smiled at her companions. 

“None,” the first male stated. He bowed his head to Cassandra. “It is an honor to meet you, Seeker Cassandra. From my understanding of it, you seek to protect your religious leader by uncovering truths and weeding out those who would corrupt the chantry from within. In many ways we are similar. I am called Enasalin.” 

“I am Hamin.” The third member bowed his head. 

There was no way a group of ancient elves wouldn’t have sided with one from their same era. Cassandra didn’t lower her blade. Her gaze flickered between the three ancient elves. 

“I understand why you don’t trust us, Seeker, but I assure you, my fellow sentinels of Dirthamen and I would never side with Fen’Harel. Our master would see merit in this world and would seek to defend it from the dread wolf.” 

“Why?” Cassandra asked as her grip tightened on her sword. 

“Dirthamen wasn’t a mage,” Eth stated. 

“But that is what _evanuris_ means,” Cassandra growled. 

“Yes, it does, however.” Eth bowed her head. “Dirthamen had a power, I won’t deny this. However, beyond this power he couldn’t wield magic to even call it magic would be stretching what a single mage could achieve beyond the point of absurdity.” 

“We are off topic,” Hamin growled. 

Eth straightened. “Yes, yes,” she conceded. “We come on behalf of Mahvir to request a meeting with a leader from the Free Marches, Ferelden, Orlais, and if they are willing, the Imperium.” 

“The inquisitor sent you?” 

“Him and the leader of our side of the People,” Eth informed her. “If you so desire, I would be willing to go with you in order to speak with the divine or another on their behalf.” 

Enasalin took a step forward. “Seeker, you no doubt came to find the identity of the leader who seeks to ally himself with your people. We intend to give you this information. All we ask is the chantry keeps an open mind to who he is and why our people would follow him.” He bowed as well. “I would be honored to accompany you, your seekers, and Eth back to Orlais if it would mean we are step closer to stopping the dread wolf from destroying the world once more.” 

Hamin’s jaw tightened. The other elf’s eyes flashed, and he looked away from his two companions. 

“You will find, from here, the trail to the clan goes cold,” Enasalin informed her as he straightened. “We saw to it none could continue following them. Not even if you knew the full path and the destination they were heading towards.” 

Cassandra hesitated. She looked at her recruits. The Frostbaks were no place for them to split up. If there had been four of them… she bit back the urge to scowl. There were too few of them for her to have brought more than two. Even these two with how little training they had, were a risk. 

“Very well.” Cassandra lowered her sword and shield. “However, if either of you mean harm to any we meet,” she let the threat hang. 

Eth smiled and bowed. “Understood, Seeker. And my thanks.” She turned to Hamin. “Return to the others when you’re certain we’ve left.” 

Hamin scowled. After a long moment he bowed his head. 

Cassandra led the way back to the horses. She kept a watchful eye on Eth and Enasalin. Neither made a move towards their weapons. Granted Eth had no weapons. 

This wasn’t at all the way it should have gone. There was no point in losing one of the recruits to the mountains when some of the information they were seeking was already in their grasp.


	10. Into Denerim

A soft sound outside the _aravel_ greeted Mahvir. He opened his eyes in time to see Hamin slip into the small space. As expected, he was alone. This meant Eth and Enasalin had gone with Cassandra instead of just handing them the message Mahvir had sent. 

“Master.” Hamin knelt and bowed his head. “Forgive me, I was unable to stop Eth and Enagalin from leaving,” he spoke in elvish, head low. 

“There is nothing to forgive, Hamin,” Mahvir assured him. “I told Eth to do what she believed to be right. She did just that and Enasalin went with her to protect her.” 

Hamin bowed lower. “Is this why you sent Enasalin with us and placed Eth in charge?” 

Mahvir rested his hand on Hamin’s head. “There is no need to bow, my child. But, yes, it is. Eth understands how important it is for us to gain support among humans. She will do everything within her power to see to it both Divine Victoria and Empress Celene agree to the meeting in a year’s time.” 

“Will it be enough time?” 

“We only have a few more cities to go to as well as another clan which will be meeting with us.” Mahvir smiled at one of his oldest children. “You’ve my thanks for accompanying the two of them and returning to me, Hamin.” 

“Always, my master.” Hamin looked at Mahvir, his eyes glistening. “I only regret we weren’t there for you when you needed us the most.” 

“It is better this way. The eight of you are needed far more in this time than a thousand years ago.” The eight of them would have died if they had been there during Andraste’s Holy War against the Imperium. Especially Eth and Hamin. Eth had been the first child Mahvir had rescued. She had gentle nature despite the hardship she had faced as a child. Her skill in healing magic was all which matched the kindness of her heart. She had never learned spells which could bring harm to another and never would. 

As the oldest of the group, many wanted her to be the head of Dirthamen’s sentinels, but Eth had refused. She stated she would be useless if an attacker came after Mahvir. Useless. 

Mahvir closed his eyes. 

Eth was anything but useless. Her power in defensive and healing magic had always protected the temple. It was she who had placed the wards around the temple. She who had found nonaggressive ways to keep out intruders. 

Out of all his children, Eth was the prefect choice to speak with Orlais and the divine over stopping Solas. Enasalin would ensure she came back safely. 

“We’ll be arriving soon.” Mahvir opened his eyes and looked at Hamin. “Join the others before the keeper notices you came to me.” 

“Of course, master.” Hamin bowed. He slipped from the _aravel_ as a shadow. 

“I don’t see the point to this,” Deceit snapped her beak. She had been watching in silence from her spot on the other bed. 

“Here I thought you would be pleased with the web of deception I had in place,” Mahvir’s tone was dry as he looked at the demon. 

Deceit fluffed up. “Yes, well, I would be more pleased with the mortals bowing before you and begging for your forgiveness upon learning you’re Dirthamen.” 

The _aravel_ jarred to a stop. Mahvir pulled himself to his feet and limped over to the exit. 

“Deceit, scout around Denerim. See what threatens the alienage.” His gaze moved to where Fear had nested in silence. “Fear, Deshanna would have landed. Guide her clan here.” 

“Slave driver.” Deceit took off. She flew into the bright sky and vanished in the direction of Denerim. 

Fear stood and shook himself. “Fine.” He followed Deceit. 

Mahvir half fell out of the _aravel_. The clan had stopped just out of sight from Deremin, close enough they could walk there in a few hours, but far enough away there was no threat of humans taking notice of the clan. 

Hawen, Evania, Egeril, and Atisha were gathered in the center of the _aravels_. Mahvir moved to join them. The air was still warm despite the coming autumn. It was little time to gather those who would be needed, convince the courts to meet and gather the armies they would need to battle Solas. 

“ _Hahren_ Shartan,” Hawen greeted Mahvir and gave him a bow of his head. “I doubt it would be wise if too many of us enter Denerim, but I would rather not have you go in alone. Even if the king is more welcoming of our people than pervious rulers have been.” 

It was unlikely much would happen. Though, it was for the best there were more than just him going in. They needed to speak with the new elder of the alienage and arrange it so, if they agreed to side with them against Solas, the people could escape the city without too great of notice from the guards. Then there was getting one member out of the city without notice. 

Mahvir’s heart grew heavy. The image of the once playful, ever kind elf flickered through his mind. No longer the picture of a child. He took a deep breath and pushed back the images. He wasn’t gone yet. And the alienage still respected him even if he was no longer their elder. 

“Deshanna’s clan should be arriving while we’re in the alienage,” Mahvir informed the group. “I sent her a message when I arrived in your clan and she’s been making her way towards Denerim since receiving it. One of my ravens has gone to lead her to this location.” 

“You expect we’ll be in there for that long?” Hawn frowned. 

Mahvir bowed his head. “If the alienage agrees to aid us, it will take time to smuggle all of them out and to this location without drawing the notice of the city guard.” 

Hawen placed his hand on his chin. “ _Hahren_ Evania or I should remain here then to greet Keeper Deshanna.” 

“I wouldn’t be much aid to those in the alienage,” Evania pointed out. “Or to Shartan if there was trouble in the city. I can oversee matters in the clan while you’re away, keeper.” A soft smile spread over her features. 

“Nitsa should also go then,” Egeril stated. “If both our keeper and Shartan are going into the city, I would rather they be protected with our senior warrior than not have any protection at all.” 

“I will go as well,” Atisha spoke from where she had been watching the conversation in silence.” 

Mahvir hesitated. Five of them would be too many, but still – his gaze rested on Egeril – another in the city would need her skills sooner rather than later. She would be the only way they could hope to get him out of the city without too much harm to him. There was no way Mahvir could leave him behind. Never. 

“Healer Egeril, I have a selfish request to make.” Mahvir met her gaze. 

Egeril straightened. “Y-yes, Shartan.” 

“Instead of taking Nitsa,” Mahvir started, “would you be willing to come?” 

“Egeril has little combat experience,” Hawen informed Mahvir. “If anything goes wrong, we would be at a disadvantage.”

“Not necessarily.” Mahvir turned his gaze on Hawen. “There are a few in the alienage who know how to defend themselves. However, the elders and very young there will have troubles escaping without the aid of a healer. A warrior wouldn’t be of much use if one of the alienage needed a healer’s aid instead.” His heart fluttered. It wasn’t just for one, Mahvir had to keep in mind the small children and other elderly in the alienage, few as they maybe. “Besides,” – he smiled at Hawen – “if you are joining us, a mage and an ancient elvhen will be more than sufficient protection.” 

“A few of my brethren know basic healing,” Atisha informed the keeper. “While Eth was an actual healer and is now carrying a message from Shartan in the hopes the _shemlen_ will aid us, Hamin does know some healing magic as well.” 

A small breath escaped Hawen. “Very well,” he conceded. He rubbed his eyes. “ _Hahren_ Evania and I will speak with Nitsa and Hamin before we leave. I would rather not leave the clan unprotected and without guidance for too long.” 

“You needn’t fear, keeper.” Evania placed her hand on his arm. “Nitsa and I can watch over the clan. I know Dirthamen’s sentinels will aid us.” She turned her soft smile on Atisha. 

“I need to speak with Vir and Hamin before we head out.” Atisha nodded to them before she turned. She walked off in the direction of where the five remaining sentinels would be gathered. 

Hawen bowed his head to Mahvir before he and Evania moved off to speak with the rest of the clan. 

A small breath escaped Mahvir. It wouldn’t be long now. 

“ _Hahren_.” 

Mahvir looked at Egeril. 

“Why was it selfish to request I go with you? It doesn’t sound like you made the request for a selfish reason, rather a logical one.” 

His gaze flickered away from her. Mahvir took a deep breath. She had a right to know. “It’s not common knowledge, but I raised a child in the Denerim alienage.” 

She blinked. “You bounded?” she asked, using the Dalish term for marriage. 

“No.” 

Egeril’s lips pursed. Her eyes narrowed. 

“His mother couldn’t afford to keep him and thus abandoned him as a baby,” Mahvir informed her. “During a visit to the alienage, I found him and took him in, raising him in the alienage.” 

The look melted from Egeril’s face and was replaced by a frowned. “When did this happen?” 

His breath shuddered. “He was born during the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden.” 

“So, he could be anywhere between forty-two and one hundred.” A small smile flitted over her face in the ghost of a laugh. The mere thought another could be in their hundreds outside of a select few, Mahvir included, did seem a little wild. Her smile melted away. “I take it he’s between those two ages?” 

Mahvir bowed his head. “I’ve not seen my son in over twelve years, but from his last letter, I know he’s still alive.” A lie. Mahvir knew his son still lived because of his sight. “I fear his health maybe failing.” His lips twitched. “Ir abelas for making such a selfish request, Healer Egeril.” 

“It’s not selfish,” she assured him. “You’re just worried about your son. I understand.” Her touch was soft as she placed her hand on his shoulder. 

The keeper and Atisha soon returned to Mahvir and Egeril. “We should get going before the sun sets,” Hawen stated. “I would rather avoid trying to get into an alienage when the guards are more alert.” 

“Agreed.” Mahvir bowed his head. He took the lead. The walk was slow thanks to him. The sun hovered closer to the horizon by the time they reached Denerim.

Not much had changed in the fourteen years since Mahvir had last been within the walls of the Ferelden capital. Deepening shadows cast an eerie glow in the dust filled market. Voices rose and fell as merchants and buyers haggled over prices. A dwarf shouted at a few of his costumers, face red with furry. 

“I’ve never been in a human city before,” Egeril whispered as she looked around the market. 

Hawen nodded beside her, his gaze flitting over the coward. 

Atisha shifted as she tugged at her hood. “So many quick children,” she muttered. 

“Which way?” Hawen asked, voice only just loud enough to be heard by those around him.

Mahvir started off. The gates were open, and a few elves were crossing over the long bridge which separated the alienage from the rest of the city. 

“It feels as if our city brethren are seen as more of a disease than a part of the city,” Egeril whispered. She peered at those moving towards the far end of the bridge. 

A few of the city elves noticed Hawen and Egeril. Whispers followed their group across the bridge. Those who lived in the alienage were trailing behind Mahvir’s group, all eyes locked on the two dalish and Atisha. 

As always, Mahvir seemed to slip from the minds of those around him. His clothing made him appear more one of the city elves than the robes and clothes the dalish wore or the armor and robes Atisha wore. 

A red-haired woman stood at the far end of the bridge when they arrived. Her brown eyes narrowed as she inspected their group. “I heard a few dalish were here,” her sharp voice sliced through the air as if her tongue were a bow and the words arrows. 

Mahvir limped forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, _Hahren_ Shianni.” He bowed his head to her. 

Her eyes grew to slits, flashing in the dimming light of the sun. “Why are you here?” 

Mahvir pulled out an old piece of parchment. 

Shianni took the parchment and looked through it. 

A small frown pulled at Hawen’s lips. It was clear the keeper had thought Mahvir might give her one of the letters as he had with Hawen. This, however, was a message from Valendrian. It gave Mahvir a voice in the alienage and a right to see his son. 

“What we’ve come to discuss should be heard by you first, _hahren_.” Mahvir gave her a slight bow.

Shianni regarded them for a moment before she nodded. “This way.” She gestured for them to follow her. She led them through alienage to a familiar home. 

A shiver raced through Mahvir. He took a deep breath, trying to keep the emotion from becoming visible to those around him. The home was smaller than those around it. Yet, many elves were gathered close.

“Come in,” Shianni invited as she opened the door. 

Mahvir took a deep breath and forced himself to limp across the threshold into the familiar space. It had changed over the years, though this was to be expected, given the home had passed from his ownership to his son’s. 

The first room was narrow with a door leading off into a small bedroom. At the far end of the house was a narrow staircase which lead to the second floor and a small room up there. Most of the space was taken by a combination of a family space and kitchen. A table was tucked against the wall close to the fire. A few vegetables were out, showing Shianni had been preparing the evening meal when the alienage had informed her of their arrival. 

Seated in a chair not too far from the fire, was a wizened elf. It was all too easy to see him as a grinning child, showing Mahvir a new rock he had found or playing in the mud, face flushed with joy. The image flickered out and left Mahvir staring at what his son had become. 

His heart tore at the sight of sightless eyes turning towards them. “Did you discover what was disturbing the others?” Valendrain asked. He pulled the thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders tighter with a crippled hand. 

“We have visitors,” the sternness melted from Shianni’s voice as she moved over to the elder. 

Atisha shifted as she glanced around the space. 

“They needn’t linger in the entryway.” Valendrian smiled at them. His gnarled hand shook as he lifted and gestured to them. “Come in.” 

Air shuddered from Mahvir’s lips. His grip tightened on the staff. His son was here, still alive. This was all that mattered, not the visions of how few months remained to Valendrian. Only the fact he had a chance to be with his son for a time, even if the time they had was to be marred by the coming war with Fen’Harel. 

Shianni folded her arms across her chest. “I first have a question. Are you lot with that Fen characters recruiters?” 

“Fen characters?” Egeril asked with a soft snort of laughter. 

Hawen scowled. “No. None of us hold any allegiance to the dread wolf.” 

Atisha’s eyes narrowed under her hood. “To even suggest such,” the words hissed from her. She stiffened when Mahvir tore his eyes from Valendrian and gave the slightest shake of his head. 

Shianni relaxed. “Sorry, but his recruiters came through a few months ago. Many left the alienage from his promise at a better life.” 

“We’re here on a matter related to him,” Hawen explained. “I assure you, the remainder of my clan would never side with Fen’Harel.” 

Well, not after the events which had transpired in the temple and Acacia recounting everything to her friends who had wanted to leave the clan. Mahvir’s lips twitched. His gaze moved back to Valendrian who’d been listening in silence. 

“It’s getting late,” Valendrian stated, “perhaps our guests would join us for dinner.” 

“I suppose we can discuss why you’re here over dinner,” Shianni agreed. 

Hawen bowed his head. “ _Ma serannas_ , Shianni.” He smiled. “I am Keeper Hawen. This is the healer of my clan, Egeril.” He gestured to Egeril. 

“ _Andaran atish’an_ ,” Egeril greeted them. 

“Dalish.” Valendrian’s wispy eyebrows rose. “Welcome.” He gave them a soft smile. “And the last two members of your group?” His sightless gaze seemed to pierce into Mahvir even if the gaze was meant for both him and Atisha. 

“Atisha,” Atisha stated. The word was sharp as if to hide the pain glittering in her eyes. 

Mahvir’s mouth had gone dry. Without sight there was no reason to accept Valendrian to recognize him. He took a deep breath. He moved towards Valendrian. Each step felt as if a weight had been tied to his legs. A lump grew in his throat. 

“Valendrian,” the name fell from dry lips as Mahvir stopped before his son. Mahvir knelt, his bad leg stretched at an angle so as not to be in the way. His free hand trembled as he reached for his son. His hand wrapped around on of Valendrian’s crippled ones. 

Shianni stiffened. “What—?” She moved as if to pull Mahvir away from Valendrian but stopped. 

Valendrian’s eyes widened. His hand lifted as if he were going to touch Mahvir but froze inches from Mahvir’s face. 

The staff slipped from Mahvir’s hand. It clattered to the ground and rolled away. Mahvir gloved hand wrapped around Valendrian’s gnarled. He guided the hand to his face. 

The shock melted to a pained smile. “You came back.” 

“I promised you I would,” Mahvir forced the words to remain steady. 

Tears glittered in Valendrian’s foggy eyes. His hand slipped from Mahvir’s face. Mahvir’s own strength was now reflected in Valendrian’s grip as he pulled him into an awkward hug. 

“Welcome home, father,” the words fell from Valendrian as a breath.

*~ _Cassandra_ ~* 

The journey back through the frostbacks had been far from an easy one. Eth and Enasalin had remained silent for the most part. They were far worse company than Solas had ever been. At least he had spoken more when Cassandra had spoken with him. These two didn’t seem too interested in talking.

“You served Dirthamen,” Cassandra started when the group had stopped to make camp. They were only a day’s ride from Val Royeaux. Given night was falling there was no point in trying to enter the city now, especially as exhausted as her recruits and the horses were. A night’s rest would do the five of them some good. 

The two elves sat across the fire from Cassandra. The two recruits were seated close to them and looked up from their merger meal. 

“Yes,” Enasalin replied, his gaze locked onto Cassandra. 

Cassandra kept her gaze locked with his not daring to break eye contact lest it show the elf she would be intimidated by the sheer amount of knowledge reflected there. It was nothing compared to locking gazes with Solas or Mahvir. Granted, with Mahvir, there had been laughter and friendship reflected in his dark gaze. 

“What was it like to serve an _evanuris_?” Cassandra asked. 

Eth looked from her meal to Cassandra. “Our master is a kind, caring man,” she informed Cassandra. “Whatever you’ve heard about him from Fen’Harel is a lie.” 

Cassandra let out a soft snort. “I doubt that. From what was uncovered, all of the elvhen gods were tyrants.” 

Both stiffened. Enasalin’s eyes flashed in the fire light. “You only know what the dread wolf whispered to you,” he growled. “None of the truths on what happened back then. Our master is a great man who would do anything if it meant protecting the children.” His foot slipped out from under him, hand hovering as if he meant to draw his sword. 

Cassandra’s hand dropped to her sword hilt. Perhaps antagonizing him over Dirthamen was a mistake, but still, not everything she had learned about the _evanuris_ could be a lie, right? Mahvir had stated, while they had been in Fen’Harel’s temple, not all views on history could be truth. Much of history was affected by the opinion of the recorder. In this case, Fen’Harel. 

Eth lifted her hand. 

Enasalin growled under his breath. He shot a glare at Cassandra. 

“Perhaps what Fen’Harel wrote was influenced by his own opinion, but next to that I only know the dalish creators were going to destroy the world anyway.” Cassandra’s hand dropped from her sword. 

Eth gave Enasalin a warning look before she turned her softer gaze on Cassandra. “Forgive Enasalin and myself, Seeker, but what you must understand is our master,” – her lips twitched into a smile – “no, forgive me, our father, Dirthamen, raised us. All his sentinels are children he rescued and raised. Though, not all children he raised stayed on as sentinels, many of us did.” 

Cassandra frowned. “So, you didn’t have to drink from a well to bind yourselves to him?” 

“No,” Eth bowed her head. “We are loyal to him because he is our father.” She lifted her head. “He took me from a slave pin where the owner pitted magically gifted slaves against one another. I have little memory of what happened back then, only the memory of fear and pain, then the feeling of complete safety when Dirthamen came.” 

So, Eth was a mage. Cassandra eyed the woman. She hadn’t cast a single spell on their trip, not even to try to light a fire.

“You don’t look like a mage,” the older recruit stated. 

Eth laughed. “Oh, and what is a mage supposed to look like, child?” Her eyes glittered. 

“Flashy, like all the other ones I’ve met.” He folded his arms across his chest. 

This only made Eth laugh again. “I see.” Her hand dropped from her mouth. Eyes still alight with laughter. “I don’t like being flashy or spells which could bring another harm. Rather I enjoy healing and creating barriers. Anything which will protect my father and my younger siblings from harm.” 

“What about you? Are you a mage?” the younger recruit demanded as he looked at Enasalin. 

Enasalin narrowed his eyes. 

“He can use the same amount of magic as any elvhen from our time,” Eth informed them. “But Enasalin is a warrior, first and foremost.” 

“I see.” Cassandra remembered when Solas had gotten back at Sera by threatening to teach her magic. Perhaps the threat had held more truth than she had originally believed. It was worth checking. “So, all ancient elves knew magic or could learn it?” 

“More or less.” Eth kept her gaze locked with Cassandra. 

“Why would ancient elves want to help us?” the young recruit asked. “Don’t you fear dying or something like that?”

A soft smile appeared on Eth. Her eyes softened. “Understand, I am old. I rather like the idea of entering uthenera to never wake again. It would be far better than to watch children grow old and pass before my eyes over and over again with no power to stop it.” 

Cassandra couldn’t picture what this was like. Yet – her grip tightened around her bawl – she did understand not wanting to watch others die. So many of her friends had passed. So much had been lost in resent years, to not have to watch it all crumble again… Perhaps she could understand where Eth was coming from. In the same instance, there was so much yet to be rebuilt, Cassandra would continue to push forward until the seekers stood once more and beyond if she had to.


	11. Child of Shartan

Shianni gaped. “What?!” The question destroyed the stunned silence in the room as if it had been a bottle shattering against the floor. 

Mahvir tore his gaze from his son. 

The younger elf stood with her mouth open, eyes wide, as her gaze flickered back and forth between Mahvir and Valendrian. 

Behind her, Hawen’s eyes mirrored Shianni’s. He glanced at Shianni before returning his gaze to Mahvir. He took a deep breath, letting the shock dissolve from his features. 

“Forgive me, Elder Valendrian, but what?” she repeated. “How can this man be your father? He looks to be in his twenties.” Shianni gestured at Mahvir as if Valendrian could see the motion.

Hawen frowned and glanced at Egeril, who, alongside Atisha, didn’t look shocked at the news. It followed Atisha wouldn’t be. She was one of Mahvir’s children as well. 

Hawen’s eyes narrowed a little. He looked at Mahvir. 

Mahvir bowed his head to the keeper. 

“Perhaps, it has something to do with him being Shartan,” Hawen stated. 

A soft snort came from Shianni. “Right? And I’m Andraste.” 

Hawen let out a small breath. He pulled the letter Mahvir had given him out of his robes. “This might change your mind.” The keeper held out the letter to Shianni. 

A small frown flickered at the corner of her lips as she took the letter. She blinked as her eyes fell over the faded lettering on the ancient parchment. Her hand went to mouth as she continued to read the letter. 

“What?” the word fell from her as a shuttered breath. 

Tears glittered in her eyes. 

“It can’t be.” Shianni looked at him, eyes wide. The color had drained from her face. “You’re,” – her hand shook as she pointed at him – “you’re really Shartan?” 

Mahvir bowed his head. “I am.”

“That,” Shianni stared at him. “How?” She took a deep breath. “How are you still alive? You should’ve died long ago.” 

An ach settled into Mahvir’s chest. “That,” the words fled him as a breath, “is the question.” 

“You don’t know?” Shianni pressed. 

“Shianni.” Valendrian’s voice trembled. 

Shianni glanced at Valendrian. “I’ll get dinner ready.” 

“Would you like some help?” Egeril stepped forward. 

“S-sure,” Shianni stammered. 

Egeril joined Shianni at the table. 

“Sorry there’s no meat.” 

A small laugh escaped Egeril. “We don’t always have meat in the clan either. It depends on if the hunters can bring any back. Not all the hunts are successful.” 

“ _Hahren_ ,” Hawen moved further into the room, “if I may, how is he your son?” 

Mahvir used the chair to stand. “For the short version, I found Valendrian when he was baby and raised him.” 

“ _Ma serannas_.” Hawen turned his attention to Shianni. “Is there anything you would like help with?” 

“Yes.” Shianni had moved the pot so it was over the fire while Egeril was finishing cleaning off the table. “The table needs to be moved into the center of the room.” She flushed. “There’s too many of us to fit around it otherwise.” 

Mahvir retrieved his staff. “Would you like my aid as well?” The offer was more to be polite. There was no way any of them would let him help. Still, the table needed two people to move. Not that Mahvir could ever hope to lift the table. Even if he used time to aid in his strength or there were four others helping him. Such a weight was forever beyond his ability to lift. It would only lead to him injuring himself or those who attempted to help him. 

Shianni whipped around. White rimmed her eyes.

Hawen shook his head. 

“I will help.” Atisha rushed forward. Her gaze lingered on Mahvir before she moved to the other side of the wooden table from Hawn. 

Useless. 

Mahvir took a deep breath. 

No. It wasn’t so much uselessness. More the fact of who he was and how the others viewed him. To the city and Dalish he was Shartan, the one who had led them through the Andraste’s Holy War. He was the liberator. 

What had he liberated his people from? 

Mahvir watched as Egeril and Shianni set the table. 

His grip tightened around the staff. 

This was better. Far better than slave pens. Yet, despite their little freedom, despite what they had achieved, not all his people were free. 

Solas wasn’t in the right to destroy the world. Elvhenan wasn’t the answer. There was no going back. Mahvir would never make such a choice. No matter how many—

His gaze slid to Valendrain. 

No matter how many children he lost through the centuries. Time should march forward, not reset. 

“All right.” Shianni straightened. She had helped Valendrian over to the table. “Dinner is ready.” 

Six bowls were set around the table with the simple stew placed in the center. 

Mahvir joined them at the table beside Valendrian and across from Hawen. 

“Um,” Shianni started. “I don’t know how meals done in the Dalish clans but we thank the Maker before eating.” 

“We generally thank Andruil for a good hunt and Sylaise for hearth and meal,” Hawen explained. 

Mahvir bowed his head to Shianni. “It’s your and Valendrian’s home.” 

Shianni bowed her head. “Maker, thank you for the food before us, and another day. Amen.” She looked up. She ladled some of the soup into her bowl. 

The others followed suit. 

“You said you wanted to talk about what’s going on with our people,” Shianni started. Her gaze shifted away from Mahvir a heartbeat after landing on him. She stirred her bowl. 

“Yes,” Mahvir confirmed. “Fen’Harel has started to gather many of the People under him under the pretense of returning Elvhenan to the world. However, what the People don’t know is in order to achieve this, Fen’Harel has to destroy this world.” 

The clatter of wood hitting wood filled his ears. 

Shianni gaped. “He’s lying to us?” 

“Yes and no.” Mahvir looked at those gathered around the table. “In order for the world Elvhenan resided in he has to tear down the Veil. Which in turn means many spirits will shatter and turn to demons. This would cause a cascading effect which would destroy many lives. Very few would survive. Much as with the danger the Inquisition faced with the breach.” 

Hawen frowned. “Why would he have aided the Inquisition if his goal was the tear down the Veil to begin with?” 

“I doubt he wanted a darkspawn as a god,” Mahvir stated. A small smile flickered over his lips. 

“And you aim to stop him?” Shianni let out a breath, her gaze dropping to her soup. “Many have already joined him. I doubt this is different in other alienages. Even if you gathered those of us here and across the rest of Theadas to your cause, our numbers wouldn’t match his.” 

“This is true.” Mahvir bowed his head. “Yet, this world is not just ours. We share it with humans, dwarves, and qunari alike.” 

Atisha let out a snort. 

Egeril glanced at the ancient. “Would the humans help us?” 

“If the _shemlen_ had sense they would.” Atisha’s eyes flashed from under hood. 

Shianni let out a small breath. “If we don’t fight and your group lost, we would still end up losing our homes and loved ones, wouldn’t we?” She looked up. “If my people agree, how do you plan on getting everyone out?” Her gaze flickered to Valendrian. 

“We would have to leave in waves,” Mahvir informed her. “A few of the able would go with the elders and children. I would send Egeril in that group as well.” He bowed his head to the healer. “The morning would be the best time for the waves to happen in as the guards expect us to be heading to work or out to the market.” 

Shianni nodded. “Yes, that makes sense.” 

“I was planning four—”

“Three,” Hawen cut Mahvir off. His gaze intense as he looked at Mahvir. “No offense, _hahren_ , but I would rather you didn’t lead a wave.” 

Mahvir bowed his head. His heart ached. It was true enough he would slow the group. Yet, he was still far from useless. 

It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting those from the alienage out and to the clan safely. 

“Are there any here who know how to fight?” Egeril asked. 

“No,” Shianni confessed. “We know a few basics, but beyond this,” she trailed off. 

“We can train them,” Mahvir pointed out. 

Hawen nodded. “The problem becomes getting everyone out. If we’re attacked by the guard,” he trailed off. 

“The groups can trickle out throughout the day. Closer to sunset we will have to stop and perhaps a few of the able bodied could return to keep the illusion nothing is going on. Everyone will have to leave in the first wave of the third day.” Mahvir locked gazes with Hawen. “I should be in the final wave.” 

Hawen opened his mouth. 

“I will join him,” Atisha cut off the keeper from arguing or even offering to go in the final wave. Atisha looked at Mahvir, her eyes narrowed a little and head tilted to the side. 

Mahvir bowed his head to her. It was more than just a thankful gesture. If he needed to use his time manipulation to get everyone out it would keep the secret of his past from the clans just a little a longer. 

“The sentinels will spread out between the clan and the entrance to the city throughout the day,” Atisha continued. “Once the people are out, they could ensure none tried to stop us.” 

“Sentinels?” Shianni frowned. 

“Until we know how many are willing to come, this is for the best,” Mahvir agreed. “We can’t think of how to continue dividing the groups until tomorrow.” 

“Agreed.” Hawen finished his soup. “ _Ma serannas_ for the meal.” 

Shianni blinked and nodded to Hawen. 

The meal passed with little else spoken. 

“Shianni,” Valendrian started as she picked up his bowl. “Can you retrieve a wrapped package from the locked chest upstairs.” He held out a warn key. 

A shiver raced through Mahvir. This wasn’t necessary. He swallowed the urge to speak. There would be no point in it. What was done was done. 

“The one you never wanted anyone to touch?” Shianni paused in gathering the dishes. 

“Yes, that one.” A soft smile crinkled his face, his eyes sparking. 

She nodded and set down the bowls near a basin of water. “All right.” She took the key and headed up the stairs. Wood creaked overhead. 

Hawen tracked the sound, eyes narrowed. 

Thumps followed the pause in the creaking. Shianni appeared a heartbeat later, holding a long thin, cloth. 

“Give it to Shartan.” Valendrian nodded in Mahvir’s direction. 

Shianni handed him the cloth. 

Mahvir slid a carved, wooden cane from the cloth. 

“It’s to replace the one I broke as a child,” Valendrian informed him. 

A laugh escaped Mahvir. “You mean the one you used to pretend was a sword?” 

“Yes, that one.” 

“You used to pretend a cane was a sword?” Shianni frowned. “But I didn’t think you knew swordplay.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Then why?” Egeril asked. 

“I wanted nothing more as a child than to be a part of Shartan’s army, taking back a homeland for my people,” Valendrian explained. His gaze softened, smile almost pained. “Though such dreams were heretical ideals back then. I believe Shartan has only just started to be accepted once more among the humans as someone who existed.” He looked towards Mahvir. “Not that your people ever doubted your existence.” 

Mahvir bowed his head to his son. “I know.”

*~ _Cassandra_ ~*

A breath escaped Cassandra.

This wasn’t going to be easy. She grimaced. Not much in life ever was. Her gaze flickered to the two ancient elves as they followed behind her. 

There would be enough protection around the divine and the divine was able to protect herself. Still, they were inviting ancient elves into the heart of the chantry. One of their kind was seeking to destroy this very world. One she had once trusted. 

Her lips twitched. 

This didn’t mean all of them were bad people. Cassandra wasn’t going to let her guard down among any of the ancient elves. Least of two who seemed earnest in their desire to help. This didn’t mean they wouldn’t turn on them as Solas had or eliminate the fact they could have been sent by Solas and not Mahvir. 

Cassandra shoved the thoughts aside. So far, they had done nothing to show they’d been sent by Solas. Neither had his spies within the Inquisition proper, however. She would just have to believe they had been sent by Mahvir for now. 

“Divine Victoria,” – Cassandra knocked on the door – “I brought the elves I spoke of in my last message.”

“Bring them in.” 

Cassandra led the way into the divine’s office. 

Eth looked around as she and Enasalin entered. 

Eth bowed her head to the divine. “My thanks for seeing us on such short notice, Divine Victoria.” She straightened. “I am Eth, a member of Dirthamen’s sentinels. This is Enasalin, a fellow sentinel. We come on behalf of both the leader of a group who seeks to stand in Fen’Harel’s path and a friend of yours, Mahvir.” 

Leliana nodded and gestured for them to be seated. “I admit to knowing little about this leader.” A soft smile played at the edge of lips. A smile which didn’t reach her eyes.

“You must understand Mahvir and our leader believed it wiser to inform you with a member of their group rather than letting your spies learn of who he is. Our leader believes it will help start a good relation between them and the chantry as what we seek falls in line with what you also seek.” Eth returned Leliana’s smile. Her eyes soft. 

“And who is your leader?” Cassandra demanded. This was pointless, dancing around the facts while the two played with words. It would get them nowhere. 

Eth bowed her head. “Shartan.” 

All heat drained from the room. Ringing filled Cassandra’s ears. 

There was no way. 

“What?” Leliana laughed. “Sorry, but that’s impossible. Shartan was burned alongside Andraste at the end of the holy war against the imperium.” 

“There’s no way he could have survived the fire,” Cassandra added. “Let alone a thousand years after.” 

Eth just smiled. 

“He must be an imposter, using the name to unite the elves.” 

“I will let you determine what he is when he arrives,” Eth stated. “He and those he’s gathered will be arriving in just under a year. He sent a request for you to gather those willing to listen, the empress, someone from Ferelden, if you can someone from the Free Marches and Imperium. What is happening involves all nations and people of our world.” Eth bowed her head once more. “He seeks only an audience. If for no other reason than to confirm who he really is.” 

Cassandra shook her head. There was just no way Andraste’s champion could still be alive. None.


	12. First Wave

The scent of rain clung to the early morning air. A fine mist shifted over the ground surrounding the vhenadahl. The mist parted as the people gathered in the pre-dawn light to hear their _hahren’s_ words. 

“Yesterday we had four guests enter our home,” Shianni started. “One among them is Shartan.” 

Whispers drifted through the air, rising in volume until they became a chattering buzz. A few of the people stood on the tips of their toes to get a good look at their group. 

“Which could it be?” 

“Who is Shartan? 

“But that’s impossible. Shartan died a thousand years ago.” 

“It’s impossible!” The shout was taken up through the crowd. 

“I’ve seen proof!” Shianni shouted to make herself heard over the rising clamor. “He is Shartan and he’s very much alive!” 

Mahvir took a deep breath. He stepped forward. 

A hush fell over the assembled crowd. 

“Whether you believe who I am or not, the fact remains our people titter on the edge of existence,” he started. His voice carried through the damp air even as his lungs strained for air. “The dread wolf has already passed through, taking many of you with him. Yet, what he seeks will only be the death of our people and our world. The hand dealt us has been a harsh one, but if we don’t stand against him, then who will? If we don’t act, then our families and loved ones will suffer a fate far worse than being forced as human servants or slaves or to wander the wilderness looking for what remains of our lost heritage.” His words grew softer as air fled his tightening lungs. 

He forced air through closing airways. A rasping sound greeted his ears. He needed to continue. 

Mahvir kept his back straight. “Who I am or was does matter, but in the now what matters far more is if you’re willing to act to save our world.” 

A hush filled the air broken only the slightest shifting of cloth. The people glanced at one another. 

One stepped forward. “Are you asking we leave everything behind like the dread wolf’s people did?” 

Mahvir bowed his head. “Not everything, take what you must. Let me ask you this, is the life of our people of this very world more valuable than a handful of gold?” He looked at the younger elf. “Our people haven’t lost everything,” he continued. “It’s true we have no homeland, a mixture of our own folly and human greed lost us the Dales and before this Elvhenan. However, our people survived both falls. We are strong and if we unite, we can push forward. There is no turning back time. No reviving either Elvhenan or the Dales. However, we can build anew. We can show our worth to the humans by acting to stop another of our people from destroying everything.” He gasped. A little more. He forced air into his lungs. 

Curse this weather. 

Mahvir leveled his gaze and looked over the crowd of on lookers. “I know what I ask is a lot, but it is all I am asking. To come and fight for our people, for the world we call home.” 

The people glanced at one another. 

“You have until the time to leave for work to decide.” Shianni stepped to Mahvir’s side. 

“There’s nothing to decide.” Another of the people stepped forward. “If you really are Shartan, then I know what my choice is. I’ll follow you!” 

Several nodded and stepped up to the first. One by one the people moved in to join them. Soon what remained of the alienage was gathered around Shianni and Mahvir in a tight crescent. 

“My thanks.” Mahvir bowed his head. 

“How are we going to leave the city? I doubt the guards will just let all of us leave.” A woman looked at her children, a frown pulling at early lines on her face. 

“We are going to be break into groups.” Hawen stepped forward. “Several will trickle out throughout one day. The first day will consist of elders and children. The healer of my clan will return to the city to take each group for the first day with her.” 

“The groups will stagger throughout the day starting around the time we would leave for work and the last group will leave in the evening when some of us would head for the market,” Shianni continued. “Tomorrow, a few of the able bodied will head out with Keeper Hawen.” She bowed her head. 

“The most able among us will stay for the final day. On the final day we must leave all at once,” Mahvir finished. “I will be apart of this group. Understand it will be the one which is the most likely to be noticed by the city guard.” 

“We will break you into groups by age and how able you are,” Shianni informed. “However, I would appreciate if anyone would volunteer for Shartan’s group.” 

“Why would Shartan lead the most dangerous wave?” A young man stepped forward. He appeared to be no older than his late teens. “I mean no disrespect, but if it’s the most dangerous wave, then why would he go? Shouldn’t he go with the elders?” His gaze flickered down Mahvir’s form, brow furled. 

Mahvir’s grip tightened on his cane. 

“He isn’t leading it alone.” Shianni gestured towards Atisha.

“Still,” the boy kept his gaze on Mahvir as he trailed off. He took a deep breath, drawing himself up to his full height. “He looks like he needs the cane to walk and his voice is too soft like that of an elder who spent too long breathing in smoke.” 

A few murmured their agreements. 

Cold wrapped around Mahvir. If he wasn’t part of the last group, it would fail or there would be bloodshed between humans and elvhen. This had to be avoided. 

“If you doubt my ability to protect the people, then you’re welcome to test it.” Mahvir looked at the boy before his gaze skimmed the crowd. “Any of you are. I know you doubt who I am.” 

“If you are Shartan, then can you still fight, even like that?” asked one of the older women. She bowed her head. “I mean no disrespect, but Shartan was said to be Andraste’s champion. He would have been a skilled fighter, not a,” she broke off, biting her lip, gaze down cast. 

“Cripple,” Mahvir finished for her. 

She nodded. 

Hawen’s eyes flashed. “What do you know of Shartan’s fate at the end of the war?” the keeper demanded. 

“Keeper.” Mahvir held up his hand. “It’s fine. They’ve a right to question me.” 

“We know Andraste was burned and killed by the imperium,” growled the boy. “Shartan is depicted as standing by and watching as it happens.” His eyes narrowed. “You did nothing to save the prophet.” 

Hawen snarled. “You know nothing of our history!” 

“Keeper, please.” Mahvir turned his gaze back to the young man and those speaking their agreement. “It is true this is how the chantry tells it.” 

“Then you did do nothing?” the woman gasped. Her hands over her mouth as her eyes widened. 

“No, I didn’t do nothing,” Mahvir assured her. “What the chantry did was paint the image of Andraste as being the only one to burn that day.” He let his son’s cane fall to it was up against his hip. He removed his gloves to reveal the burn scar and rolled the sleeve of his left arm just passed the elbow. He unraveled the scarf from around his neck. “This burn covers about half my body,” Mahvir told them holding up his hands so all could see. “The betrayal didn’t just catch Andraste, but all her generals, all those of high rank within her army. The imperium wanted to make an example out of all of us.” 

Silence broken only by the soft whisper of the wind washed over the group. 

“My bindings were looser than the other generals,” Mahvir lied. He had aged them let them snap. While all eyes were on Andraste he had fallen from the fire, half his body burning. “I broke free and tried to reach her.” He lifted his right hand and rolled down the sleeve to reveal it cover his hand and wrist as a glove. “But it was already too late.” His voice shook. “She had been stabbed.” His eyes narrowed. “The chantry paints me as someone to be forgotten. Not an elf, not her champion, just a human.” 

Hawen rested his hand on Mahvir’s shoulder. “Our children are taught this story and the story of the fall of the Dales from a young age,” Hawen informed them. “You may have forgotten, but we know Shartan speaks the truth.” His eyes softened, brow furling. “I wish you hadn’t forgotten. That our history was as much known to you as it is to us dalish.” 

The boy shifted. His gaze dropped to the ground. “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “You suffered the same fate as the prophet, but then how did you escape?” 

Mahvir closed his eyes. “Those moments are blurred, almost forgotten.” It had been Fear and Deceit. They had carried him away, screaming as he tried to get at Andraste. She had been beyond aid. Nothing short of resetting time would have been able to save her from the fate which had befallen her. “As for how I’ve lived so long, I don’t know. It could very well be a side effect of experiments done on me when I was a child.” 

“But can you still fight?” the boy broke the long silence. 

Mahvir gestured for him to step forward. 

He looked around before doing so. 

“Come at me as if you mean to kill me.” 

The boy blinked and shifted. “But,” he protested. 

“Don’t worry.” 

He nodded and went into a loose, unbalanced stance, fists raised. He leapt towards Mahvir. 

Mahvir side stepped and struck him the back with his cane. 

The boy gasped. He slammed into the ground with a dull thump. 

“My,” Mahvir smiled, holding back laughter, “that was the worst attempt to kill someone I’ve seen in a long time.” 

The boy stood, face and ears bright red. 

He lunged. 

Mahvir stepped around him once more. 

“That’s enough.” Hawen caught the boy. “I believe Shartan has proven the point.” 

“I.” The boy’s head dropped. He nodded to Shianni and Hawen before returning to his place among the others. 

Silence followed this, broken only by a few speaking in hushed tones. 

“Are we going to leave or stay?” Shianni broke the long silence. 

“Leave,” one voice rose above the clearing mist. It was joined by others before soon every voice made it clear everyone agreed they would be leaving. 

“Here is what we’ll do for today,” Mahvir turned back to the people. “Elders will leave in the first wave for heading out of the city. During this time those able bodied will be heading to a normal day of work. Keep quiet to what is going on. Mothers’ and children will follow in the wave after. Egeril will have returned in time for it appear you were heading for the market with your children for food and other items.” 

“Tomorrow I will take two groups to the clan,” Hawen picked up. “Both at the same time. A few will need to return to sell the fact nothing is going on as well as continue with normal work for the day.” 

“Mainly those employed by the nobility, whose absence will be felt,” Mahvir told them. “On the final day those few who remain will come with Atisha and myself all at once. 

“A few will need to also volunteer to return on the second day to help sell the fact nothing is wrong and bolster the number of those heading out with Shartan.” Hawen nodded to him. 

“For now, gather the elders and mothers get your children. We will see the numbers and decide how best to split the groups for today,” Mahvir finished. “Also, gather your belongings you wish to take with you. Keep it light. Bring only what’s needed and previsions.” Mahvir bowed his head to them. “My thanks.” 

Shianni moved to speak with a few of the people while Mahvir started back to her home. 

“I don’t know about this,” Egeril whispered beside him. “It still feels like we’re placing far too much on you for the final day.” 

“Atisha will be with me.” Mahvir gestured towards the sentinel. “If anything goes wrong, she can make up for my weaknesses.” 

“But will you leave him?” Egirel’s eye widened. 

“Never.” Atisha’s eyes flashed in the dim light of dawn. 

The healer smiled. “ _Ma serannas_.” She bowed to the sentinel. “I should see to helping gather the elders.” She left them. 

A small breath fled Mahvir. The little air strained through his airways. It was for the best to get in doors. He led the way into Valendrian’s home. His son was seated near the fire, his eyes locked on them and a small smile on his face. 

“I take it the other’s saw reason?” Valendrian asked. 

“It took a little, but, yes, the people are leaving over the next three days,” Mahvir informed him. 

Valendrian’s eyes softened, his gaze moving towards the fire. “I understand their hesitation. We’ve worked hard to make this our home. Still, not many could pass up the chance to fight beside you.” 

Mahvir’s lips twitched. “Including yourself.” 

A small laugh escaped Valendrian. The laugh broke into a coughing fit. He straightened. “If I was younger, I would have gladly stood beside you, father.” 

Mahvir bowed his head. An ache pierced his heart. So little time remained to Valendrian, was it really right to take him from here? 

“I would still gladly stand by you,” Valendrian assured him as if he had the ability to read Mahvir’s mind or could see his face. “I might not be able to fight, but what I can do, I will for our people.” 

Mahvir limped over to Valendrian. He placed his hand on Valendrian’s wizened shoulder. “My thanks, my son.” 

Valendrian’s hand touched Mahvir’s. The grip was weak, as weak as Mahvir’s, as his son’s fingers wrapped around Mahvir’s. There had been a time Valendrian had the strength to do anything he set his mind to. And now… 

It was best not to dwell on such matters. Valendrian was old, but still with them, still willing to help his people. This was all that mattered. Not what future awaited him. Not the fact he would pass far from his home or what would happen after he passed and the fact he was Mahvir’s son. He was still strong in the here and now. Strong enough in will and spirit to do what was needed for his people. 

The door opened. 

“The other elders are gathering,” Egeril informed them. “I’ve asked a few mothers to come as well to help those who can’t walk fast.” Her gaze fell to Valendrian. “Are you ready, _hahren_?” 

“One moment.” Valendrian turned his sightless gaze on Mahvir. “Promise me we will see one another in two days’ time.” 

“I promise.” It would be true no matter what lay ahead of them.

Egeril stepped forward. She helped Valendrian to his feet and let him use her for support as they moved from the home. 

All which was left was to wait. Mahvir closed his eyes. This day and the next would see little notice from the guards. It was the final day which would be noticed. 

At least, by then the mothers, their children, and the elders would have made it safely back to the camp. It would only be the able bodied who remained. Everything was going as he had seen it. 

If Mahvir didn’t have this curse, would he have made another plan? Leaving all at once would have drawn the attention of the guard immediately. Leaving tomorrow with how many remained would have done the same. He knew this was the only way. And if he didn’t have his so called gift, so many more would have been lost in the attempt to escape, to save their world from the fate Solas would wrought upon them. 

If he didn’t have it, Mahvir would be dead. 

A smile pulled at his lips. His heart flickering. 

Death. 

Something far beyond his reach. Even if he did manage to die, his gift would never allow it to last. A heartbeat, two even and then time would reverse, and his mind would be shot back to the past. An endless loop if he fell over and over again. Never stopping, never ending until he broke it for everyone else’s sake.


	13. Day Three

Shartan? 

Cassandra clasped her hands, eyes locked on the stain glass windows. There was no way he could have survived over a thousand years let alone the fire which had seen a magister end the prophet Andraste. There was little proof Shartan had even been one person. Scholars had been locked in a heated debate over this matter of years. There was no proof beyond one book Shartan was a single elf. One book didn’t prove anything as anyone could have used the name back then or it could have even been written by many. 

Then there was the fact this elf who sought to stand in Solas’s way had dared take up a name until recently hadn’t been uttered in the Chantry. Not after the fall of the Dales. It had been blasphemy until Leliana had reinstated the Canticle of Sharan. A matter many saw as wrong. Victoria had made many controversial decisions since becoming Divine. When she had made this one… 

Cassandra rubbed her eyes. 

Mahvir was many things, but she had believed him less a fool than he was proving now. Yes, one legend could counter act the other. Still, this was far from the way to do it. If, by some miracle this man really was Shartan, it begged the questions to how he had made it from the fire and lived for the last thousand years, especially how he had escaped the notice of the chantry. 

“Shartan was an ally to Andraste,” Leliana’s voice cut through the silence of the empty pews. 

Cassandra looked at the Divine out of the corner of her eye. Her gaze was locked on the stain glass as Cassandra’s had been moments before. 

“Her champion.” A small breath escaped the Divine. “Still, that was over a thousand years ago. We haven’t been so kind to his people in the past eight hundred years.” 

“You heard of the scrolls we recovered. The war which lost the elves Dales held fault on both sides.” Though mainly the elves side. Cassandra shook her head. Not all elves were bad people. Mahvir, for one, was far from it. And yet he had sided with Shartan. 

Leliana bowed her head. 

“Then there’s the fact we stripped him from the chant, burned his books, and made it heresy to even mention him,” Cassandra continued. 

“True.” A small breath escaped Leliana. “Even the strides I’ve taken recently might not make him a friend to us.” A hallow laugh escaped her. “Assuming he is the real Shartan and not one of the elves who took up the name.” 

If he was, then what? It was an impossibility. There was no way Shartan had lived where the prophet had been slain. 

“There’s only one way to find out. We take up his offer on meeting with him in a year.” 

“It would get him here to see who he really is,” Cassandra agreed. 

“We will gather only those he requested. If need be we can also summon the other nations but for now, this will be all.” Leliana smiled. “It falls close enough to when the Inquisition was going to get together, Dorian might want to join us as representative to the Imperium.” 

Cassandra grunted. Her gaze moved back to the stain glass. 

There was no way this Shartan was the one who had fought beside Andraste. None. 

“All right.” Cassandra stood. There was much to do in what little time was given them. 

Perhaps those Shartan, or whatever his real name was, had requested who would only come to see if who he really was. This might be what he was beating on. To gather the leaders to see if his claims were truth or lie.

*~ _Mahvir_ ~*

A soft light filled the small space Mahvir had taken to sleep in. He turned to see the crystal Dorian had given him was glowing. He hesitated and glanced at the thin walls of Valendrian’s home. Only Shianni was left in the home given two days ago today Valendrian had left with the other elders, the children, and their mothers.

Mahvir lifted the crystal. “Morning, Dorian.” 

“I had feared you’d be asleep,” Dorian’s voice came through the crystal, clear and full of its normal vibrant exuberances. “Missed hearing my voice that much.” 

A small laugh escaped Mahvir. “Of course, my friend, how could I not?” 

“I know right?” 

“How goes the matter we discussed the last time we spoke?” Mahvir changed the subject. 

A small breath escaped Dorian. “One day at a time,” he replied. “I know I make it look easy, but still,” a breath cut off the reset of Dorian’s sentience. 

“One day at a time is all any of us can do, trying to leap forward beyond a day would be utter madness.” 

Dorian laughed. “You mean like when we leapt through time the last time and saw the world destroyed.” 

“Yes, such as then.” Mahvir shivered. If only Solas had seen what the world would look like rejoined with the Fade as Dorian had. 

It wouldn’t matter, not now. There was no showing him, no way to break through his suborn streak. Only trying to stop him to save this world and its people, all peoples from the fate which Solas believed would undo his greatest “mistake.” 

“This wasn’t what I wanted to discuss today, though I could use your advice on the matter as well.” The soft rustle of clothing sounded from other side. “I just got word from the Chantry of Andraste about some elf taking up the name Shartan.” 

That had been fast. Granted, there were more than likely spies placed into the Chantry of Andraste from the Imperial Chantry. Ha, more than likely, more like truth. The two sides had never seen eye to eye despite following the faith which almost aligned. The Imperial Chantry was the older of the two, the one which had been founded right after the magister had killed Andraste rather than watching her burn. 

Flames flickered before Mahvir’s eyes. 

He reached out, watching as blood flowed and mixed with red hair set aflame. 

She was gone. 

Mahvir closed his eyes. It was in the past. There was no undoing it, no point in dwelling on it. Nothing. 

“Does the Imperial Divine truly see the Chantry of Andraste as that much of a threat,” Mahvir asked, “that he sends spies to see what they’re up to?” 

Dorian huffed. “You should know the two sides don’t recognize one another as being the real chantry, my friend. The problem is this elf taking that name.” 

Mahvir smiled. 

“You might not know this, it’s kept hushed in the south from some odd reason, but all her generals, including her champion, were put to the pyre beside her. In all our history books, Shartan was burned alive. This elf can not be him.” 

“I’m aware of the history, Dorian. All Dalish are taught the fate of Shartan. The Chantry of Andraste may have stripped what happened to him and all his acts from history and the Chant of Light, but not the Dalish. Keep in mind he is a large part of elvhen history.” 

“So, you know this elf is an imposter then?” 

Mahvir bowed his head. “And if he’s not? If he has presented proof of him being Shartan, then what?” 

“Mahvir,” Dorian’s voice hardened, “this isn’t a possibility. Even if he did escape the fire, he’d be long dead by now.” 

Mahvir closed his eye. “Perhaps.” He took a deep breath. “Dorian, there is a chance Leliana will reach out to you.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Shartan—”

A grunt cut off Mahvir. 

“—Or the imposter, if you would rather, has requested a meeting with a few nations in about a year’s time. I’ve no doubt she will reach out to you given this is about when the Inquisition is going to try to get together.” 

“I’ll think on it,” Dorian stated. “Just, Mahvir, don’t listen to that elf’s lies.” 

Mahvir’s heart twisted. 

“Promise me, you’re not getting caught up in this.” 

The soft sound of movement came from Shianni’s room. 

“I must go, Dorian. It was good to speak with you.” Mahvir slipped the crystal into his bag before the magister could reply. He used the wall and the cane to pull himself to his feet. 

There was little hope in Dorian ever seeing who Mahvir really was in a good light. Yet, there was a part of him which hoped. 

A small laugh fled his lips. It was like Falon’Din all over again. The bitter hope of his brother accepting they were at once brother’s and cousins. The feeling perhaps they could continue on as they had for countless centuries. 

With Dorian… 

Mahvir closed his eyes. 

It had felt almost as if Mahvir had his twin back. 

Dorian wasn’t Falon’Din. He was stronger than Falon’Din in so many ways. There were parts of his personality, aspects of him which made Mahvir see Dorian as more than just a friend, but a brother. A younger brother, but a brother nonetheless. 

Mahvir shook the thought from his mind. 

“Shartan?” Shianni appeared in the door. “The others are gathering.” 

“My thanks, _Hahren_ Shianni.” Mahvir bowed his head to her. “Lead the way.” 

She nodded and led the way out of her home. 

Mist whispered over the ground. The fine water droplets glittered in the first rays of the rising sun. Soon the mist would burn off from the light as the sun continued to rise. Now it would help provide them with a little cover. 

The few remaining in the alienage were gathered before the home. They glanced around. Whispers filled the air in a buzz rippled with unease. 

Today was the final day. 

Mahvir took a deep, strained breath. 

“Is everyone here?” Shianni called. 

Mahvir scanned the small group. His sight allowed him to know everyone was gathered. His heart ached. He was asking so much of them and all of them were willing to follow him through this just because of who he had once been. 

“Master,” Atisha’s breath was warm on his ear. 

Mahvir stepped forward. “We need to leave now,” he informed them. “The longer we delay the more guards who will be out throughout the city.” 

Shianni nodded. 

Mahvir fell in beside her and Atisha. 

“Will we encounter trouble?” Atisha’s voice was low so only Mahvir could hear her. 

Mahvir bowed his head. “Just over the bridge,” his reply was just as soft to avoid notice from Shianni. “Lead the others towards the clan when I give the word.” 

“Master.” Her eyes glittered under her hood. “Please, don’t overdo it.” 

“You need never worry about me, Atisha.” 

Her lips twitched into a frown. 

Mist swirled over the bridge. The only movement in the early morning. Not even the sound distant birds stirred the air. A softer whisper echoed through time to Mahvir. The clanking of armored boots against hardened dirt and stone. The loud tap of the armored plate with each marching step a soldier took. They were far from alone. 

“Cross with haste!” Mahvir called to those around him. 

Shianni frowned and nodded. They picked up the pace. 

The others passed Mahvir. 

“Go with them, Atisha.” 

She nodded, gaze lingering on him before she raced to catch up. 

His eyes burned. Time stilled throughout the city, wrapping around the humans as they woke for the day and the oncoming guards. 

Mahvir remained where he was. He focused on his people, drawing them from the normal time flow into the stilled one. Each breath strained into his lung before escaping him as a rasp. Sweat trickled down his face. 

Just a little longer. 

His gaze locked on the far side of the bridge. The group raced to the far end of the bridge before vanishing from normal sight. 

None noticed he had stopped or turned back. 

Just a little longer.

Air shuddered through him. Mahvir squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to keep track of the group. 

The group moved through a market devoid of people and towards the exit from Denerim. 

A little longer. 

His hand shook over his chest. Claws gripped his lungs. 

The gate was already open. The group raced out into the fields which lay beyond. 

Time crashed back down upon the world. 

A cool breeze washed over his face, pulling his hair into his sweat coated face. 

He gasped. The mist filled air pulled at his strained lungs. His hands shook and legs felt as though they were made of water. 

The others had made it to the first sentinel. Atisha spoke with the sentinel. It was Iras. He nodded and gestured for the group to continue with him. He took Atisha’s place beside Shianni in the lead. 

Atisha turned and started to race back across the field towards the city. 

The clang of armor against stone echoed around him. 

“You there, elf!” 

Mahvir opened his eyes a slit. He took a strained breath. “Good morning,” Mahvir greeted the guard, his tone soft as it rasped through the air. 

The guard stepped forward. “Move aside.” 

Mahvir straightened, both his hands placed on his cane to help stop the shaking. “I am far from blocking the road. He smiled. 

The guard growled. “Where are the rest of you bloody knife ears.” His gaze flashed under his helm. There were several more gathered around the guard. 

Mahvir kept his gaze locked on the guard. “I imagine they’re getting ready for the day, good sir.” He smiled. “It is only just yet dawn. A few no doubt have headed for the families they serve.” 

The guard huffed. “That is far from what we’ve been informed of, knife ear.” 

Mahvir tilted his head to one side. 

“We’ve gotten reports of fewer and fewer elves returning here each night.” A sneer curled his lips. “And it all started when three strange elves entered the alienage three days ago.” 

“Did it?” Mahvir bowed his head, hand over his heart. “I fear I know naught about these three strange elves. My apologies, good sir, but you may want to try the _hahren_. She would be able to direct you.” 

The guard snarled. 

A moment longer. He just needed a moment to get enough strength back. 

“A likely story!” snapped one of the other guards. She stepped forward. “His majesty has treated your kind well since he took the throne. And here all of you are escaping. To what? Join the Dalish? Make an army of your own to take our nation?” 

“My you have an active imagination.” Mahvir looked at her. 

She huffed. 

The head guard moved towards Mahvir. 

Time slowed. 

Mahvir stepped away from the guard. 

His lungs tightened. 

Time returned to normal. 

The guard blinked. 

It hadn’t been enough time. 

Mahvir staggered back. 

“What the?” The guard stared at where Mahvir had been a heartbeat before. “You little,” he growled, eyes flashing. 

“My apologies,” Mahvir rasped. He managed a slight bow. “It is far from my intention to stand in your way. You’re more than welcome to continue across the bridge.” Mahvir stepped aside. “I am rather late myself for the lord I serve.” 

The guard’s eyes narrowed. 

“Sir, our priority is to see what’s happening in the alienage,” the woman intervened. She glared at Mahvir. “We can detain him if you wish. Or—” 

_Clang_! 

The guard fell to reveal Atisha standing behind her. She raced forward. 

The head guard turned. 

Too slow. 

He fell beside the others with another loud _clang_. 

“Master, we must be off. It won’t be long before they realize what’s happened.” 

Mahvir nodded. “I fear I can’t move fast.” 

Atisha blinked. Her gaze swept down his form. 

A guard groaned. 

“You have permission,” Mahvir told her as she opened her mouth. 

She nodded. “ _Ma serannas_.” Atisha lifted Mahvir into her arms. 

She leapt over the guards and raced across the bridge. 

The soft sound of clicking armor could be heard from where the guards lay. 

Beyond the market had started to fill with early risers. 

“Watch it!” snapped one of the men as Atisha bolted passed. 

The sentinel ignored him. They moved out of the city and into the fields beyond. 

“Set me down on the rise. It will take time for the guards to realize we’ve gone.” And he had no desire to be carried into the camp. 

“All right.”


	14. Lavellan Arrives

The sun hung low by the time Mahvir and Atisha arrived back at the camp. All those from the alienage were around Shianni. Well, all but his son. It wasn’t hard to understand why. Egeril wouldn’t have liked him remaining outside long. 

Mahvir limped, unnoticed through the camp towards where Hawen would be. Or the keeper and those who had just arrived only moments before Mahvir and Atisha had. Sure enough clan Lavellan had arrived. Both Keeper Deshanna and _Hahren_ Theon were speaking with Keeper Hawen and _Hahren_ Evania. 

“—Returns we should be able start for Highever,” Hawen told Deshanna and Theon. “Though the _shem_ might have been alerted to what we’re doing.” 

“They are aware of some of it,” Mahvir informed them. 

They turned. 

“Shartan.” Deshanna’s face lit with a smile. Her hazel eyes glittered. “It’s good to see you, _ma falon_.” Her eyes narrowed, the glitter dying from them as her gaze flitted down his form. A small breath escaped her. “Honestly.” 

“ _Andaran atish’an_ ,” Mahvir bowed his head to Deshanna and his oldest friend, Theon. “I hope your journey was safe.” 

“Safe enough, _ma falon_.” Theon’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “Though, I do believe your ravens led us around most of the danger.” He nodded to where Fear and Deceit was curled up together. “One would almost think you were related to Dirthamen with those birds,” Theon teased. 

Mahvir chuckled. “They’re just well trained.” If only.

Theon’s lip twitched. “I’ve seen them eat half your meal, _ma falon_.” Theon wagged his finger before Mahvir. “Thus, I know they are far from well trained.” 

Deshanna’s lip twitched. “Speaking of which, you look more than half dead as normal whenever you return to the clan. You’re not eating full meals again, are you?” 

“I eat my share,” Mahvir stated. 

“No, you eat half of it. Your ravens eat the other half.” Deshanna waged her finger. “You are going to get something more to eat. I doubt you’ve even eaten today as it is.” Her eyes narrowed. “Go to the healer’s aravel and see Teren then get something to eat. Teren will ensure you do.” 

A small laugh escaped Mahvir. There was no getting out of this even if he vanished Teren would track him down. For not just the fact he’d not have a strengthening potion or eaten but because he had never informed his friend and healer who he was. One of Mahvir’s many names. 

“Very well, Keeper Deshanna. I will do as you ask.” Mahvir bowed to her. “ _Dareth shiral_.” He nodded to Keeper Hawen and the two _hahren_. 

Mahvir moved off. A small breath escaped him. It would be for the best to speak with Teren before returning to the keepers as they did need to discuss where they were heading next and if the risk was worth heading to Highever or not. 

“There is a matter I wanted to discuss with the three of you,” Hawen’s voice traveled to Mahvir, unbidden, through time itself. 

Mahvir frowned. He didn’t want to hear what they were discussing. Still, it would be over a matter he needed to hear. There was a possibility Atisha had said too much to them. 

Mahvir stopped outsight from the group and closed his eyes. His heart fluttered. This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t listen in no matter if the topic pertained to him. 

“Hmm?” Deshanna cocked an eyebrow. 

“On our way through the Frostbacks,” Hawen started, “Evania and I spoke with the sentinels Atisha and Vir.” 

“The ones who survived Dirthamen.” Deshanna frowned. “I confess to wanting to speak with them as well.” 

Theon bowed his head. 

“We asked her what the creators were like,” Hawen continued. “She and Vir confessed to having little knowledge outside of Dirthamen and his _twin_ Falon’Din.” 

“It confirms the matter we’ve suspected but was thrown into question by the _shem_ on them being twins and not the same person,” Evania stated. She shook her head. “I still can’t believe a human scholar threw doubt on us for that matter.” 

“What did they tell you about them?” Theon asked, his eyes glittered, face flushed. 

“The first matter she told us all the creators bound their sentinels to them in some manner of another, but most were through a physical bond,” Evania informed them. 

Deshanna nodded. “This matches what Mahvir reported back from Mythal’s temple. A pure control over the sentinel to the point she could stop them with slightest thought or gesture.” The keeper shivered. “I never believed they would do such a thing to their people. To believe any of them would,” she trailed off. 

“Dirthamen didn’t do this,” Hawen continued. “Apparently Dirthamen found children who were unwanted while walking among the people and took them back to his temple.” Hawen smiled, eyes soft. “He raised those children as his own.” 

“It makes sense considering Dirthamen taught us value in family.” Theon’s face crinkled in a smile. 

“So, he ensured loyalty from his sentinels by being their father?” Deshanna frowned. 

Hawen nodded. “Not all the children he raised went on to being sentinels.” 

“It makes sense to a degree, but how does that ensure they wouldn’t betray him?” Deshanna shook her head. 

“He had a power to see every possible future,” Evania informed her and Theon. 

Theon’s eyes widened. “What?” 

Evania held out the letter to Theon. Theon took it and read it. 

“This is,” the oldest _hahren_ breathed. He passed it to Deshanna. 

“There is another matter you two should know,” Hawen started when Deshanna had lowered the letter, “the sentinels doubt their master was sealed with the other creators.” 

Deshanna and Theon both frowned. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Deshanna broke the silence. “If he wasn’t sealed, surely he would have answered our prayers or would be aiding us against Fen’Harel?” 

“He never wanted to be seen as a god,” Evania whispered. “They believe he is moving against Fen’Harel already but remaining hidden as someone none of us would suspect as being a creator.” 

“Yet, he could see all possible futures,” Deshanna stated. “It’s no wonderer our ancestors and we view him as a creator. There might be even more to his abilities than just this.” 

“It does explain why he’s called the Keeper of Secrets.” Theon looked at all of them. “What greater secret than time itself. To know all futures, everything happening in the present, and perhaps every event in the past.” 

“Hmm.” Deshanna placed her hand on her chin, eyes narrowed. 

“What?” Hawen asked. 

“It’s just, everything the two of you said fits with Shartan,” she confessed. “He has rescued and raised many children just as you said Dirthamen did. He also possesses the greatest knowledge and foresight I’ve ever seen in another.” 

“No.” Hawen shook his head. “I admit _Hahren_ Shartan knew his way around Dirthamen’s temple and much on how to get through the trials as well as having two ravens, but to think one of the creators could be injured so gravely,” he trailed off, shaking his head. 

“It is true his injuries are extensive.” A breath escaped Deshanna. She rubbed her eyes. “I admit there is much we still don’t know about the creators. Though, I do agree. To have injuries the same as Shartan has does seem ridicules.” 

Theon looked between the two keepers. “They might have mortal forms,” he pointed out. 

“What matters isn’t who he is, but the fact he’s aiding us,” Evania stated. 

Deshanna bowed her head. “If he is aiding us, then we are in a far better position than we believed ourselves to be. Even if he won’t reveal himself to us, his mere ability to see so broadly would place us at an advantage against Fen’Harel.” 

“If we did look for him, we would only drive him away,” Theon pointed out. “It’s for the best we leave well enough alone.” 

“Perhaps after this mess has ended,” Hawen agreed, “until then, if he is helping us, it is for the best not to search.” Pain leaked into the keeper’s voice. “Though, I admit meeting different creator, one who actually believes in us and this world would be far better than meeting Fen’Harel.” 

Pained smiles appeared all the others’ features. 

“Mahvir!” 

“Good morning, Teren.” Mahvir opened his eyes. Sure enough another elf stood before him, his arms folded across his chest and eyes narrowed. 

“I thought Deshanna would have sent you to me the moment you returned.” He huffed. “No matter. Come.” He turned and started towards where the two healers’ aravels were. 

“Teren,” – Mahvir limped after him – “about my not telling you—” 

A harsh breath came from the healer. He stopped and turned to Mahvir. “Both Deshanna and Theon were aware you are Shartan.” The words came a hushed growl. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His eyes flashed. “Did you not trust me?” 

“Of course I trust you. I just—”

“Really? Because from where I stand, I certainly doesn’t feel like you do.” Teren let out a low breath. “I would never have told another.” 

“I know. I just didn’t want to be viewed as Shartan again,” Mahvir explained. “Deshanna and Theon were only made aware because the keeper and _hahren_ before them were. I never outright informed them either.” 

Teren huffed. His arms folded across his chest. “All right. That will have to do.” He started off once more, pace slower now. “Just be certain that is the only secret you’re keeping from me.” He gave Mahvir a side long look. “Knowing you though, you’ve not been eating or keeping up with taking what helps with the pain.” 

“I’m fine, Teren.” 

There was a soft note to Teren’s voice. One which sent a shiver down Mahvir’s spine. Being Shartan was far from his only secret, but who he had been long before becoming Shartan would only prove worse than this. 

The way he was viewed as Shartan was bad enough, but to be viewed as a god once. To be held up as such, no. A shiver raced through Mahvir. He never wanted to return to such a view in his people’s eyes. All he wanted, all he ever wanted was be like them. To be viewed as one of them. To not be doomed with the curse of his powers as his family had been. To just be normal. To live life and know there was an end to it one day instead of the endlessness of life which stretched ever before him. 

Teren leapt up a few steps into the aravel. He stopped and held out his hand to Mahvir. 

Mahvir took his hand. 

“I heard you were in the _shem_ city,” Teren started as he moved into the bed part of the aravel. “I hope you this wasn’t one of those times were you went and got into trouble.” 

“Far from it. There was no trouble on the way back.” Outside of running into a few of the guards. Though this wasn’t a matter to bring up. Not without Teren learning how Mahvir had escaped them and why Atisha had gone back for him. 

“Right? And aravels now fly.” A soft snort came from the healer. “Sit.” He gestured to the nearest of the four beds. “If the keepers must speak with you again, they can come here, but until I am certain you are healthy, I don’t want here a peep from you about leaving to join in making plans.” 

Mahvir chuckled. “I would never dream of disobeying you, _ma falon_.” 

“Good.”


	15. Always...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to Arodoet for the idea for Valendrian to be Cyrion Tabris’s father (and thus the father of Cyrion’s two unnamed siblings). May Cyrion still be alive so he can be rescued from the clutches of Imperium slavery.

“This is so stupid,” a soft growl was hushed by a light rain. 

Dirth blinked as he looked up from the plant he was stripping of leaves. 

The elf who’d growled was rubbing the dirt off his hands. “If Sylaise is so certain these will help the family she can come and get the dumb plants. I don’t see why we have to do it.” 

“We’re the oldest,” Dirth remined his twin. 

“Yeah, yeah,” his twin grumbled, yellow eyes narrowed as he glared at the plant, “I know.” He turned to Dirth. “But we’re only older by two years.” He held up two long fingers. “Two! Father had us on the battlefield at their age. Who cares they’re girls? Andruil is willing enough to fight.”

Here he went again. Dirth returned his attention to the plants. 

No, this one wouldn’t do. An image of Sylaise shacking on the ground flashed before his eyes. It wasn’t good for eating, let alone what Sylaise wanted to try.

“I mean, come on!” his twin shouted. “You’re not even healthy and father forces you to fight.” 

Heat flared through Dirth’s ears. “I,” he started but trailed off. It was true he wasn’t strong. In fact, he was very frail compared to the rest of his family. The gift he’d woken to helped, but – his hand trembled as he touched the tender wound on his chest.

He looked at his twin out of the corner of his eye. 

If Dirth had his twin’s strength, then Falon wouldn’t have to worry about him so much. Falon’s arms reflected his physical strength unlike the twigs Dirth had for arms. His body was strong and sturdy. They looked like one another in their features minus eye color as Dirth had purple eyes where Falon had their mother’s yellow. Dirth had no idea why his eyes were purple, their father’s were the color of burning coals while their uncle’s eyes were a piercing gray. 

Dirth shook his head. 

It wasn’t important. What was important was the herbs they were gathering. 

A weight fell over his shoulders. 

Dirth gasped as he collapsed towards the ground. He didn’t end up with a face full of dirt only because Falon’s strong frame held them up. 

“Sorry, Dirth.” Falon ran the back of his fingers down Dirth’s jaw. 

A shiver raced down Dirth’s spin. 

“I know it bugs you. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” 

“Falon,” Dirth stuttered. Did he have to touch Dirth like that? Dirth took a deep breath and looked at his twin. They were so close his nose brushed Falon’s. “I,” – he swallowed, gaze flickering towards the ground – “it doesn’t matter what father and mother think. I can prove to them I am capable even if only you and my gift are all I have on my side.” 

“Excluding uncle already?” Falon pressed his forehead to Dirth’s. “My thanks, brother. I promise, I’ll never leave your side, ever.” His arms wrapped tighter around Dirth’s shoulders. 

Dirth closed his eyes. He clutched his twin’s hand. With Falon beside him, there was nothing to fear. Especially from their father. 

His eyes snapped open. 

Oh no. 

He braced himself.

“Ah, so cute. I found you two having a brother moment.” 

Falon leapt back. 

Dirth hit the ground. 

So much bracing himself. He spat out a mouth full of mud. 

“Abyss’s taint, Andruil!” Falon growled. “What are you doing here?” 

Dirth picked himself off the ground. His leathers were covered in mud. 

“I was bored.” 

He turned. A thirteen-year-old girl hung upside down from a tree. Her legs hooked over the branch while she nodded. 

“So, I had a brilliant idea!” She grinned, her eyes, the same color as their father’s, glittered. “Stalk my mighty older brother and the wimp.” 

Falon bristled. “He’s not a wimp.” 

“Really?” Andruil frowned. She swung down from the tree and landed before them. She straightened. Her gaze flickered down Dirth’s form. “Because he sure seems like a wimp. Have you seen him fight?” She giggled. 

Warmth spread down from Dirth’s ears to his cheeks.

“He can’t even use magic. Forget a bow. The string is too hard for him to pull back. Thus,” – Andruil smirked – “he’s a wimp.” 

“He can outwit you any day!” 

“So?” 

“Stop it,” Dirth muttered. 

“So, at least he has a brain between his ears, unlike you.” 

“Oh, great come back, coming from someone dumber than a rock.” 

“Stop it!” Dirth thrust his way between his siblings. “It’s not worth it.” 

Both gaped at him. 

Andruil huffed. “Fine.” She muttered, “Wimpy wimp.” 

“Let’s just get what we gathered back before anyone misses Andruil.” Dirth turned back to the pile of plants he’d collected. 

“Race you home!” Andruil jeered before she took off down the wet mountainside. 

Falon didn’t move from Dirth’s side. “She’s not worth leaving you,” his twin stated with a shake of his head. He grinned. “Always and forever, brother.” 

“Always.” Dirth nodded and fell in beside Falon. 

Always. 

Always… 

Mahvir cracked open his eyes. 

It hadn’t been a lie, no not entirely. But the always and forever had ended just over two thousand years ago when the truth behind Mahvir’s real father came out. 

His heart ached, eyes burning. 

Why couldn’t Falon’Din have seen passed it? The answer was clear. Elgar’nan. Through Elgar’nan’s manipulations, their family had been torn, ripped to shreds. 

Mahvir pushed himself up. 

“You’re awake.” 

The sound made Mahvir smile. He turned his gaze to see Valendrian sitting up in the bed across from his own. The ache melted as warmth blossomed in his chest. 

“I had feared the drug that healer gave you would never ware off.” Valendrian smiled, his milky eyes soft. 

“I assume Teren and Egeril changed around which _aravel_ will be used for what.” 

Valendrian bowed his head. “It seems us elderly get this one.” 

A soft snort sounded from a third bed. “I have my own _aravel_ too,” joked the last member there. 

“But then who’d keep us company, _ma falon_ ,” Mahvir teased. 

Theon laughed. “True.” His eyes glittered. “And I don’t mind giving up my _aravel_ to the _lenen_. There are far too few to go around and it will only get more crowded the more of the People we pick up.” 

Mahvir leaned back, his back pressed against the wall of the _aravel_. They would be running out of space soon, even with two clans’ _aravels_ it would only get tighter the more people they found to join them. 

Teren’s _aravel_ slowed. 

“Here!” 

“Thanks.” 

Two familiar voices sounded from the first room. 

Mahvir smiled. 

“You made it look so easy,” Shianni voiced. 

“Years of practice,” the other woman said. “We should move so the keepers can get in.” 

A tall woman led the way into the main room of the _aravel_. Her features were long and he had heard many describe her as looking more like a boy than a girl. An amber _vallaslin_ honoring Dirthamen covered her face. Her dark brown eyes lit when she saw Mahvir. 

“Papa!” She rushed over to him and flung her arms around his shoulders. “I’m so happy you’re back!” 

“Alaula,” Mahvir gasped. He smiled and returned her embrace. “It’s good to see you again, _ma len_.”

Alaula stepped back and settled herself on the bed. “Once the meeting’s over, you need to tell me everything that’s happened.” 

“Everything?” 

“Yes, papa, everything.” Alaula folded her arms across her chest. 

“Very well, _ma len_.” 

Valendrian’s eyes were locked in Alaula’s direction, expression soft. 

It was the first time so many of his children were meeting one another. Mahvir smiled. After the meeting they could… 

Deshanna, Hawen, Evania, and Atisha entered the _aravel_. Hawen and Evania took the free bed while Deshanna joined Theon. Atisha stood close to the exit. 

“We’re heading for Highever as was originally planned,” Hawen informed them. “Though, the guard might be on higher alert than before.” 

“This is true,” Deshanna agreed. “From what I was told, you were noticed leaving the alienage in Denerim the last day.” 

Mahvir bowed his head. “This is true.” 

“Highever will pose its own problems,” Shianni informed them. “A few of our people are from Highever. It could prove helpful.”

“We would need to train them a little for them to help us in and out,” Hawen pointed out. 

“We train them then. I would rather Shartan not head into the alienage this time.” Deshanna folded her arms across her chest, eyes narrowed. “You’ve most likely aggravated your breathing, let alone undone years of Keepers’ healing to your leg just in the past few months alone.” 

“I am fine,” Mahvir assured her.

She snorted. “You would say you’re fine if we were bleeding out and ask us to help another.” 

Mahvir gave a small smile. This was true. It was unlikely anyone would be able to kill him as it was. He wouldn’t point this out. 

Hawen’s eyes narrowed. 

Shianni sat up straight. Her eyes wide. 

“Very well,” – Mahvir bowed his head to Deshanna – “I will remain with the main group this time and leave it to all of you to see if they want to join us or not.” 

All three leaders relaxed. 

Atisha bowed her head. “I can train those who are willing in stealth and keeping a low profile. We could also utilize the gifts my master gave me and my fellow sentinels.” 

“You mean what you used to keep pace with the running harts?” Hawen frowned. “It could prove useful.” 

“There are more than just those and this would be a good time to use them.” Atisha looked at Mahvir out of the corner of her eye. She never once turned to him or made it appear she was asking his permission, even if he knew this was what it was.

“It would be,” he agreed. 

“If Highever goes well, where are we heading next?” 

“We might be able to use a few of the contacts Mahvir made,” Deshanna suggested. 

Hawen frowned. “I’ve not seen the Inquisitor. I figured he would have returned to his clan by now.” 

“He did.” Deshanna smiled. “I’ll speak with him later over the mater.” 

Hawen nodded. 

“We could attempt to ask Briala, the Marquiase of the Dales for aid,” Shianni pointed out. “If Inquisitor Mahvir is willing that is.” 

“It’s unlikely she will be of aid,” Mahvir stated. 

Everyone looked at him. 

“Why wouldn’t she?” Shianni asked. “I doubt she went off to join the enemy.” 

“Perhaps not, but from my understanding of it, she is a follower of Fen’Harel. A friend and mentor of hers taught her about him.” Mahvir’s gaze swept the space. “It is unlikely we’ll find aid from her or those under her.” She had given Solas control the eluvian network after all. No, it was for the best to avoid her. “We will head for Orlais.” 

“Orlais?” Shianni gasped. “You’re not meaning…” 

“No.” Mahvir smiled. “I requested Eth, Hamin, and Enasalin to carry a message from myself to Divine Victoria to request a meeting with her and the surrounding nations if we can.” 

“Are you certain that’s wise?” Hawen asked. 

“Even with the few from each city and clan who haven’t joined Fen’Harel, we don’t have enough forces to even hope to put a dent in his. We will need the aid of humans.” 

“It is wise,” Valendrian spoke from where he had been listening in silence beside Shianni. “After all, Shartan didn’t get us the Dales without the aid of Andraste.” 

The Dalish bowed their heads. “It’s just,” Hawen trailed off. “It wasn’t their fault we lost the Dales to begin with. I am open to the idea as long as the _shem_ are open to working with us.” 

Shianni nodded. 

“As am I.” Though there had never been a doubt Deshanna would be willing to work with humans. 

“Then it’s agreed. We’ll head for Highever, then back towards Orlais.” Hawen stood. 

“Before you go,” Mahvir stated. “I hope while I’ve been here the _aravel_ I was using was turned over for others to use.” 

Hawen blinked. “No, it wasn’t.” 

“Then if it’s all right with you, pass it on to Shianni and her family.” 

Shianni’s eyes widened. “We couldn’t.” 

“Please, take it, I doubt Teren will let me far from here as it.” 

Deshanna laughed. “After the stunts you’ve been pulling, not likely.” She wagged her finger at him. “Serves you right going to explore an ancient temple then heading into Denerim. You’re not as healthy as you once were.” 

A matter she would never drop. 

“Very well, if that’s what you wish,” Hawen trailed off. 

“It is.” 

“Then, _Hahren_ Shianni, you’re free to use the _aravel_ as your own.” 

“Thank you.” Shianni bowed to both Hawen and Mahvir. 

Hawen nodded. “I need to see to my clan while we travel.” 

“As do I.” Deshanna followed Hawen out of the _aravel_. 

“Theon, would you do me the pleasure of looking over the books we got from the Dirthamen’s temple.” Evania smiled at the older _hahren_. 

“Of course. I would like to read further into the guides of our language.” Theon stood. “I’ll see you two this evening.” His face crinkled with his familiar, warm smile. He and Evania followed the keepers from the _aravel_. 

“I should see to my people as well.” Shianni made to stand. Valendrian’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Yes?” 

“A moment, Shianni. I doubt we’ll have another like this.” 

She returned to her seat. 

“If only Soris was here as well, then all of our family who is here would be together.” Valendrian’s sightless gaze swept over them. Pain etched on his face. Not at the mention of Soris but the missing members of their family. “I had hoped the next time you visited you would meet my last child and all of your grandchildren.” 

Mahvir’s heart tore. He bowed his head. 

Shianni’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think, but if you’re Valendrian’s father, then that makes you,” she gasped, eyes wide. 

“Your great grandfather,” Valendrian finished for her. 

“And you’re then my great niece,” Alaula smiled. “A little creepy considering we’re about the same age.” 

Shianni laughed. 

“Though, I admit it’s great to finally meet you, Valendrian. Papa has told me a great deal about you when I was growing up. I’d always wanted to meet my older brother.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

“What do you mean? I am meeting you now.” 

Valendrian smiled. 

“Oh, you’re teasing.” Alaula shook her head. “Ir abelas, one would think I would catch on faster with him as a papa.” She jabbed her thumb at Mahvir. 

Shianni laughed. Her eyes shone. “I really wish I could stay longer, but I do need to speak with the others. Perhaps tomorrow we could have a real family gathering, Soris included this time.” 

“That would be wonderful.” Mahvir smiled, heart light as he watched Shianni stand. 

“I’ll go with you. I need to see if the keepers are slowing the _aravels_ for us hunters to go out.” Alaula gave Mahvir a quick hug. “I’ll be back this evening with dinner for both of you. You had better eat it, papa.” She shot him a glare over her shoulder before racing from the _aravel_. 

Mahvir was left alone with Valendrian for the first time in many years. 

“There is a matter I wanted to ask you, father.” 

Mahvir stood and moved to join Valendrian on his bed. “You can ask me anything.” 

Valendrian gave a pained smile. “I realize I don’t have a lot of time left.” 

A shiver raced through Mahvir. 

“I had hoped to do something for my son and granddaughter-in-law, but…” Valendrian closed his eyes, head bowed. 

Mahvir took his son’s hand and drew him into an embrace. 

“I wish nothing more than for you to have met one of my children and for me to have lived long enough to see Soris and Valora’s child. Given both are slaves now,” a tear slid down his face. 

“I wish the same,” Mahvir whispered. 

“Father, please, once I’m gone, look after those who remain in our family.” Valendrian’s hand moved so he was returning Mahvir’s hold. 

“Always, my son. Always.” 

Valendrian relaxed. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes. 

And this time the promise would mean something and be eternal. Not like the promise Falon’Din had once made to Mahvir. Mahvir would do everything in his power to keep his family safe. All of them. From the sentinels to Alaula and whoever she picked as her mate. To the children of Shianni if she decided to marry and their children’s children. 

Always would mean always this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are moving from daily to every Saturday.


	16. Requests and Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you are interested, HerenyaHope and I have started to post Blood of the People here on AO3. It's a joint fanfiction taking place in another reality from this one where her character is the Inquisitor. Mahvir is the main character I write in that story. It is also the first story I wrote with him in it. 
> 
> Thank you guys for continuing to read this story.
> 
> This chapter is unedited. I will edit it over the next week.

_Tap. Tap, tap-tap._

The soft tapping of the quill tip against wood filled the air. It sped up as Dorian watched the crystal rested to the side of his desk. He had heard nothing from Mahvir in days. It wasn’t unusual but he wished his best friend would answer the call Dorian had put in over the course of the last two days. 

Dorian had been in the right to warn Mahvir against following the elf going by Shartan. There was no way Shartan was still alive. None. It just wasn’t possible. 

Ancient elves? Sure. Nothing to that one now he’d seen it happen before his very eyes. An elven god being the hobo mage? Why not? Solas had always been a strange one. Mostly quiet until you got him on a topic related to magic or his people. But Shartan? He had burned at the stake alongside all Andraste’s generals. 

No. 

Dorian rubbed his eyes. 

History stated Shartan had been born into slavery. 

A soft knock sounded through the quiet space. 

Ah, that must have the books he’d requested. “Enter.” Dorian’s lip twitched in the shadow of a smile. 

The servant by the door opened it. 

Another servant entered the room. Books were staked so high the lad’s eyes were covered. He kept glancing around the edge of the stake. 

“The books you requested, Lord Pavus.” 

“Thank you, set them here.” Dorian gestured to an empty space on his desk.

_Thump_! The books shook the desk as they were placed on top of the expensive wood. A few warn scrolls tumbled from the top of the pile.

“Is there anything else you needed, my lord?” The boy’s eyes glittered. 

“No. That is all.” 

All this lord business made his skin crawl. Dorian shoved the thought aside. What did matter was the fact he would get to the bottom of this mystery and save his closest friend from whatever lies Shartan was feeding him. 

This was all. 

Dorian frowned at the book in his hand and the rest of the pile. So few books and scrolls pertaining to Shartan. He looked down the spins, skimming the titles. Most of the tomes related to Andraste, not her champion. 

It shouldn’t have been a shock. Still, Shartan had freed so many slaves from the Imperium, Dorian had hoped there would be more material on the former Imperium slave. 

He took the closest scroll and opened it. Dust flew into the air. Dorian coughed. His eyes watered. 

“This was the earliest information you could find on him?” Dorian asked the servant. 

“It was, my lord.” The servant bowed. “Forgive me but there are few records going back that far.”

“There is a matter I’d like you too look into.” Dorian glanced at the stake before turning his gaze to the servant. “Are there any records left from the magisters of the time?” 

“There are.” The boy pointed to the middle book. “I also found a copy of Shartan’s book.” 

The books the boy had pointed to, were the ones with their spins facing away from him. 

“That will be all.” 

The boy bowed. He moved to join the other servant by the door. 

Dorian pulled the first book the boy had pointed to from the stake. It was Shartan’s. 

He skimmed through it. A scowl pulled at his lips. This was far from helpful. It told little on Shartan’s early life outside of the fact he had born into slavery. It didn’t even mention if it was the Imperium he was born into or not. It could be assumed as truth from the book. Most of the book was over the elves and their struggles during the Holy War. It told of Shartan’s hope for their people to regain a homeland. 

Dorian closed the book. 

That had been useless. 

He frowned. Though, there was something familiar about the writing style even in the translated version from and reopened the book. Ancient tevene might have proven to reveal more about the style than in the now. Still, the way it was written, reminded Dorian of the documents Mahvir had written as the Inquisitor. 

Ridicules. 

Dorian snapped the book closed. Mahvir wasn’t Shartan. He was twenty-seven. The man had said so himself… No, he had never stated he was twenty-seven or even twenty-five when Dorian had first met him. He had never spoken about his age. It was still ridicules. Mahvir would have told him something like this, right? 

Dorian reached for the other book. 

A soft glow made his hand freeze inches from the tome. 

“Dorian?” 

His gaze snapped to the crystal. A smile spread over his face. 

At last. 

“Yes, Mahvir?” Dorian asked as he lifted the crystal. A small breath escaped him. 

“I am sorry for ending the conversation the way we did the last time,” Mahvir started. “But I had to go at the time. There was a matter to see to among my people,” the former inquisitor explained.

Dorian frowned. “But you are following the false Shartan?” Dorian asked. His heart flickered. If he pressed too hard, would Mahvir put away the crystal again? 

Silence. 

“Mahvir?” 

“Listen, Dorian, I have a favor to ask.” 

Dorian frowned. “Go on.” It depended what Mahvir wanted. 

“There are two slaves in the imperium, family members of the contact I mentioned.” 

Odd. “Go on.” 

“Could you find them for me?” 

“I could try.” 

“Their names are Cyrion and Valora Tabris,” Mahvir informed him. “They were taken from the Denerim alienage during the Fifth Blight.” 

That would help narrow it down. Dorian opened his mouth. 

“Please inform me on what’s become of them, even if they’re dead.” His voice was too calm, too even. 

Dorian frowned. “I’ll see what I can do.” He had heard rumors of slavers who operated out of the alienages of neighboring countries. This would be a good chance to find them and take them down. 

“My thanks, Dorian.” 

“Mahvir, on the matter of the false Shartan, can you tell me anything about the man?” 

A small, rasping breath came from the other side. 

“Anything, like physical features?” Dorian pressed. His heart flickered. Something had to be wrong with Mahvir’s breathing. Everytime he spoke with the man he seemed out of breath or his breath rasped more than he had ever heard it before now. Yet, the only damage he and Vivienne had looked Mahvir over after the anchor had destroyed the man’s arm. The only damage had been to his arm. Whatever had happened to his breathing would have happened the day he had left them. 

“Does it matter?” Mahvir asked. 

Dorian frowned. “Have you seen him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Mahvir, it’s important.” 

“Does it matter, Dorian?” Mahvir repeated. “If he can unite the rest of my people against Solas, then does it really matter if he is or isn’t Shartan?” 

A soft snort came from nearby. 

“Who was that?” Dorian asked. 

“Ah, don’t mind me, Magister Pavus,” an elderly voice sounded in the background. 

Was he Shartan? 

“It’s Theon,” Mahvir explained. 

Theon? As in Mahvir’s closest friend in his clan, Theon? 

The man sounded ancient! Far older than Dorian had pictured the man. 

“You believe he’s the real Shartan, then?” Dorian asked the elderly sounding elf. 

“I do,” Theon stated. “Granted my clan has known him since the fall of the Dales.” 

Could Shartan just be an ancient elf pretending to take on the name? No. If he had been awake for so long, it would follow he would be dead, right? 

The sound of the door opening on the other side came to Dorian. 

“I have the books,” another elderly voice sounded. This one was female. 

“ _Ma serannas_ , _Hahren_ Evania,” Mahvir spoke to the woman. To Dorian he added, “I must go, my thanks for looking into the matter for me, _ma falon_ ,” The crystal went dark. 

Great, another run around. Dorian lowered the crystal and rubbed his eyes. He straightened. He had his own meeting to see to. But after he would continue looking into Shartan as well as start looking into the request Mahvir had made.

*~ _Solas_ ~*

“Shartan?” Solas looked over his shoulder to one of his spies from the chantry.

“Yes, sir.” She bowed. “That’s what’s been going around since two strange elves spoke with the Divine a few days ago.” 

“What did they look like?” 

“They wore armor much like your own, only it was purple, and the clothes were black. Only the man was armed.” 

Purple? Solas closed his eyes. He hadn’t been wrong, there were surviving sentinels of Dirthamen. Then there was the fact Dirthamen’s sentinels were following Shartan. There was very little over the elf Shartan. Solas had only stumbled across him a few times in the Fade. It was as if the spirits had difficulty grasping onto the memory of the man. 

It was possible. But still the only other this had happened to before was… Dirthamen. 

His eyes snapped open. 

It could be possible. 

Dirthamen had been sealed with the others. Yet, this would explain why it was so hard to track Hawen’s clan after they had left the temple. If Dirthamen had been with them, they would have known every secret passage and how to end them. 

“Have the recruiters had more luck in Ferelden?” Solas changed the subject. His gaze moving to the next person. 

“No, my lord.” The woman bowed her head. “In fact,” – her eyes closed – “from what I’ve seen, no one is left in the Denerim alienage at all.” 

Solas frowned. “Explain.” 

“I wasn’t there when it happened, but according to those willing to speak with me, over the course of three days the population dwindled. At first the guards thought it was more slavers come to take them but on the third day they encountered a strange elf they hadn’t seen before. He used a cane to walk and looked to be barely standing. From what the merchant was hit by this man and the woman carrying said.” 

She passed Solas the report. 

It described another sentinel and a man with dark hair and eyes, who looked more than half starved. There wasn’t much to go off of. 

“Have the rest spread to Highever, Redcliffe and the other alienages in Ferelden. Given another sentinel appeared, I assume this is Hawen’s clan and Shartan’s doing.” 

This man could very well have been Shartan himself. 

“If they run across the group claiming Shartan is with them, have them join said group as a spy.” He would get to the bottom of who this was and what they were seeking with knowledge they had stolen from Dirthamen’s temple. Knowledge which would have aided in undoing his greatest mistake. 

“It will be done.” The woman bowed low. “I’ll gather those who were out recruiting to do this.” 

“Leave those within Tevinter,” Solas instructed. 

“Of course.” She left the room to follow through on the plan. 

Solas turned his gaze on the devote. “Learn what the two sentinels are fully after. See if you can get anything out of them on their master or why they’ve allied themselves with Shartan.” 

The devote bowed. “It will be done.” He followed the woman from the room. 

Dirthamen. 

Solas rubbed his eyes. 

If his nephew was awake, then what? It was true he had defeated Dirthamen and the others when Solas had formed the Veil. Still… it was off. Dirthamen’s “gifts” allowed him to see and know everything happening at any given moment around. To control the very fabric of time around himself. Perhaps even around objects he focused on. 

There was little Solas knew about his nephew’s abilities. Dirthamen had never been as forthcoming about them as he his siblings had been. As Falon’Din had been. 

Pain stabbed Solas’s heart as keen as any blade. The beloved children of his brother and Mythal. His nieces, nephews, and great niece. 

Why couldn’t things have stayed as they had been during the Dark War with the _banal’ras sa_ , or the Forgotten as so many now called them. To have his family remain as only elders to their people rather than turn to rulers and eventually gods. To never have them drift apart into wars and countless schemes to gain more power, more territory, more followers. To keep the peace of the days they had been a real family. To argue with his brother over how he was raising his children, how he treated them, especially little Dirth. 

Solas’s eyes burned. He narrowed them against the pain. 

It was long over. They would never be a family again. Too much blood had been shed for such a matter to ever occur again. 

But, he could undo some of the pain wrought on this world by his family. 

He closed his eyes. 

By himself.


	17. Just a Figurehead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited

A soft light illuminated a small space around Mahvir. He shuddered, forcing his hand to remain steady. A fade rune took shape, etched onto a flat, round piece of ironbark. Sweat trickled down his neck. 

Just a little longer. 

The light faded, leaving darkness to flood the _aravel_ once more. Time returned to normal. 

A breath shuddered through Mahvir. He glanced towards his son’s bed then Theon’s. Neither showed signs of having woken. Though, this was to be expected. He was removing himself from the time flow while he etched the Fade runes so as not to wake either. 

“ _So stupid_.” Fear opened his eyes from where he was nested on Mahvir’s pillow beside Deceit. His voice echoed through Mahvir’s mind. “ _Though your fear at them learning your full truth is wonderful, you shouldn’t be sneaking around_.” The raven lifted his beautiful head. Eyes burned into Mahvir. 

“ _You’re only saying that because you miss being worshiped_ ,” Mahvir replied through their mental link. 

Fear snapped his beak. He tossed his head, feathers fluffed. “ _So what if I am. It was glorious being revered. Far better than this life_.” 

“ _You want me to unbind you_?” Mahvir smiled to himself. There was only one-way Fear would react. 

“ _You wouldn’t dare, Dirth_.” Fear stood. His neck feathers stood on end and eyes wide. “ _No, no, you need us. You can’t release us_.”

Of course Mahvir wouldn’t. To do so would require the demons wanting to be released. The reveled in the power he could bring them when in a complete fusion and the fact they were completely immortal now. Their lives bound eternally to his own. If he died, they would. If they died, they would come back as their lives were bound to the same reset effect his own was. If they died time would reverse itself on them. 

“ _You’re well aware I would never do such a thing, Fear_ ,” Mahvir assured the demon. 

“ _Good, because you’re my eternal feast. No other fear demons_.” 

“ _Of course, Fear_.” 

Fear shook himself. His feathers smoothed. “ _Now, why don’t you reveal yourself to the mortals_?” 

“ _I have my reasons_.” 

“ _They’re all fools for not seeing through your web of lies_.” Fear settled himself back down by the sleeping Deceit. “ _Even a fool should see you as the inquisitor and any who know your legend should see Dirthamen when looking at you_.” 

“ _They never will_.” 

Not unless Mahvir revealed himself to them. The only possible way was to have these two “carry” him. Or fuse if one would rather. It would be a scene straight from Dalish lore around him. 

None knew as Dirthamen he had been so physically weak. Only three in his family had been fully aware of the extent of his frailty: Falon’Din, of course, Solas, and Sylaise. Solas had suspected it from the time Mahvir was. Sylaise had learned about it from healing him during the Dark War. Falon’Din had because of how close they’d been as twins. The others only knew he was weak, but not frail. 

Add in the fact now he was a cripple… 

Yes, no creator would appear in such a state. 

What a laughable creator he’d be then. 

Mahvir smiled. He pulled out several long strips of leather. He glanced at the small pile of Fade runes. He’d been working on them every night so as not to draw attention to himself. 

“ _What are those even for_?” Fear cocked his head. 

“ _The final battle_.” 

“ _Ah, to augment that weak stick_.” Fear jabbed his beck towards Mahvir’s cane. 

Mahvir’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t a weak stick! Oak wasn’t ironbark, but it still would have cost his son a lot to get even this amount. 

There was no way Mahvir could enter the final battle without a cane. Sure he could have asked for ironbark to make one, but it was a waste of resources. Besides, it was given to him by his son. He wanted to ensure it lasted. To have a piece of his son to fight beside him in the final battle even if… 

His gaze slid back to Valendrian. 

Even if his son would never live to see the battle. 

Valendrian wanted to fight in his own way to protect his people. He could only pass on knowledge at this point. Being around healers was helping. 

Mahvir shoved the thought aside. His son was fine in the now. He was better than he had been before leaving the alienage. Happier as well. 

Their family would be back together one day. It was only a matter of time. 

Mahvir started to wrap the leather just below the handle. He interwove it a little, making a thick, strong grip. He wove some thinner strands so they hung down from the grip. A Fade rune was slipped onto each of the two strips which hug down. 

The next few runes were placed just below the grip, held into place by leather slipped through the small slot he’d made and tied down to the staff. 

The two hanging down were added runes to harness Deceit’s abilities when in a fused state. The ones just below the grip and running down the staff at intervals would strengthen the wood. The last few were placed just below the strengthen runes. When activated they would turn the ice from Deceit or the good of the cane when not fused, sharp to the touch. 

Deceit gave a small click of her beak. “ _Wonderful_.” Her eyes were half open. 

“ _I’m glad you’re pleased_.” 

Deceit shift so she was curled back up on the pillow. “ _It’s an improvement though it could be far better_.” 

Mahvir smiled to himself. She liked it. His smile melted. Though, it was a shame he had to do this to the cane his son had made him. 

Mahvir lowered the cane. His gaze shifted to his son’s bed. 

It was only a matter of time before it was revealed he was Dirthamen to the clans. The final battle was one of the places they would learn who he was. Yet, this wasn’t as frightening as his old companions from the inquisition learning all of his secrets. 

It was bound to happen one way or another. 

Mahvir set the cane to the side of the bed. He laid back, curling himself so his head didn’t rest on the pillow. The ravens had claimed it after all. He didn’t want to be clawed if he tried to share the pillow with them. 

He made certain his gaze rested on the wall instead of his son. There was enough to think on without seeing his son’s death play out as he slept. Besides, he would rather stare at the wall than his son all night if he couldn’t sleep. Perhaps tomorrow night he could figure out something else quiet he could do in the dark. 

Mahvir closed his eyes. 

That would only get Teren on his case for not sleeping a few hours a least. This would lead the healer to giving Mahvir another draft to get him to sleep. He let the soft sounds of the two other elves and the ravens breathing lull him to sleep. 

Dirth’s grip tightened on the hilts of his bone daggers. His heart quickened. 

“They’re circling,” he whispered to his twin. 

Falon nodded and drew his long staff. Their younger brother had fashioned rock at one end to come out in a curved blade. A scythe better used for harvest, as Dirth’s sight showed him. Yet, in his brother’s hands a deadly weapon. On the same end as the blade but the other side from it was a shepherd’s hook, though it was rough. 

“Falon, head around and fling them toward you.”

Dirth didn’t glance towards the man who’d spoken. He kept his gaze on his brother, heart flickering. This wasn’t good. Falon would be living him. 

He shoved the thought aside. Falon wouldn’t be far. Right? 

Falon’s yellow gaze widened. “Be careful, Dirth, if this goes wrong…” 

“I’m fine,” assured his brother. Would he? Yes, he would. 

“He’ll be fine,” the man echoed Dirth’s words. 

“He better be or I’m coming for you, uncle.” Falon’s eyes flashed towards Solas before softening as they returned to Dirth. “Stay close to Uncle,” – his fingers trailed the side of Dirth’s face – “I’ll be back in a heartbeat.” He made to stand. 

“Stay low,” Solas hissed, “or you’ll be spotted.” 

“I know that,” Falon snapped. 

Solas scowled. His tanned skin wrinkling with the expression. Long, golden brown hair tumbled down his bare back in long dreadlocks. The sides of his head were shaved. 

“I know that,” Falon repeated. 

“Stay here.” Solas half stood, still hidden behind the rocks. “I’ll do it.” As he moved, white fur raced over his skin. A white wolf bounded away before Falon or Dirth could speak. 

“Yes.” Falon smirked. “Now, I don’t have to leave you.” 

Dirth let out a breath. Tension eased from his body. Even if his brother hadn’t done that on purpose it was good he didn’t leave Dirth’s side. 

Flames sparked. 

Nothing remained of Falon’s playful smirk. 

Everything was burning. 

Dirthamen’s home burned. Flames flickered up rich purple tapestries. 

Falon’Din twirled a massive shepherd scythe staff around him. Flames trailed the blade. It mixed with green energy emanating from the hook. 

“I’ll kill you!” Falon’Din charged forward. “You’re deceptions end here, insect!” 

The ground jarred under Mahvir.

Mahvir snapped awake. 

The _aravel_ had slowed to a halt. 

A small breath fled his lips. Mahvir pushed himself up. 

“Hmm.” Theon blinked open his eyes. He mimicked Mahvir’s movement. “The halla must need a rest,” the old _hahren_ muttered. 

It was barely dawn by the small amounts of light coming into the _aravel_. 

“A hunting party will be sent out soon.” Mahvir smiled. “The People might get to eat some meat tonight.” 

Theon gave a soft chuckle. “True, though there might not be enough to go around.” 

“I’ll speak with the keepers and Shianni about it,” Mahvir stated. Though he knew they would give elders and children the meat followed the warriors and hunters and finally the crafters. 

There was another matter they could see to while here. Mahvir stood. They could train some of the People while also keeping an eye out for materials they could use for weapons and basic armor for the battles to come. 

What mattered in the here and now was they were forging ahead towards the coming winter and the meeting with the human leaders. It would decide how they faced Solas in the end. 

His hand brushed the Fade runes placed on the staff. 

And his own role in the final battle. If he would have to take on both Solas and most of the army to or just Solas to protect the world. To protect the People. His family. 

“I’m going to see if I can help prepare those who can’t fight,” Mahvir informed Theon before his friend could ask. 

Theon’s eyes glittered, lips twitching in a shadow of an amused smile. “Very well. I’ll join you. I could do with fresh air.” 

Mahvir let Theon out of the _aravel_ first. 

He followed, almost falling from the _aravel_ into a soft dusting of snow. 

“The hunt might not go well,” Theon pulled a fur tight around his shoulders. His breath rose in a fine plume before him. “It’s an early snow.” 

Mahvir looked to the surrounding plains. The hunt would be successful despite the snow. The ground was still firm under foot. It was only a fine powder, nothing more. 

A year. 

One year from now they would be meeting with the human leaders. It was so little time to prepare. So little to train the people. 

“You two need to get back into the _aravel_ ,” a sharp voice snapped from nearby. 

“Come now, Teren,” Theon teased, “we’re far from keeling over.” 

“It’s only a dusting,” Mahvir pointed out to the healer. “My lungs have handled worse.” 

Teren let out a breath. 

“Besides we need to move too,” Theon grinned. “And I, for one, don’t plan on the _lenen_ missing lessons today. We’re teaming up against them.” His eyes glittered. “Imagine so many _hahren_ teaching _lenen_. It’s like a dream.” He set off for Evania’s _aravel_ with a wave over his shoulder to Mahvir and Teren. 

“I’ve not collapsed because of my breathing.” Lately. “I should be fine for now,” Mahvir reassured his other friend. 

Teren’s eyes narrowed. “Very well, but I am going with you.” 

“Teren,” Mahvir started. 

Teren held up his hand. “You are too important right now.” His gaze glittered. “I wish you had told me before now who you were.” 

“I’m me,” Mahvir stated with a smile. 

Teren gave a choked laughed. “Yes, you are.” He fell in step beside Mahvir. “What I mean, is if I had known you are Shartan before now—”

“You and Deshanna would have teamed up to ensure I never left the safety of the clan,” Mahvir finished for him. 

“Yes.” Teren shook his head. “You should keep traveling. What imperium did to you, destroyed your body beyond repair.” 

No matter the state of his body, Mahvir wasn’t useless. This may very well be how everyone viewed him. As a figurehead. Someone who could be used only to lead and pull what remained of their People together against Fen’Harel. 

The two keepers, Shianni, and Atisha were gathered around a roaring bomb fire set in the center of the _aravels_. 

“—divide those who are able bodied with those trained in hunting and fighting,” Deshanna was telling them. “Your people will then be trained in both crafts. Those among you who are willing can join the craft masters from the clans to help in crafting weapons and armor.” 

“Agreed.” Hawen bowed his head. Strands of his shock white hair fell into his stern face. “There is little time to prepare. The Dread Wolf maybe aware we’re moving against him and is tracking us down.” 

“I’ve sent out a few of my people to keep an eye out for the Dread Wolf,” Atisha informed them. 

“ _Ma_ —” Hawen cut off. “Good morning, Shartan, Healer Teren.” He smiled. “The hunters were sent out the moment he stopped,” he informed them. “If they manage to catch anything, I would like you to take some of the meat.” 

Mahvir cocked an eyebrow. “There are others who would need it far more than I.” 

“No arguing.” Deshanna held up her hand. “You need to eat more or we may very well lose you because you don’t like to eat.” 

“I can help with training,” Mahvir changed the subject. “Any who would like to learn more about—”

“No!” the keepers and Shianni shot him down in unison. 

“I mean no disrespect, Shartan, but you barely made it out of the alienage.” Shianni shifted. “I should have noticed you fell behind us.” She shook her head and straightened. “We can’t afford to lose you.” 

“She’s right.” Hawen bowed his head. “Perhaps you can aid Evania and Theon with the _lenen_.” 

Mahvir took a deep breath, feeling his lungs tighten from the cold. “I’m not a figurehead.” His heart flickered. He would never be seen as such again. To have those around him place their lives before his own… no. He could and would be useful. “I can train those who wish in stealth.” 

“So can Atisha,” Deshanna countered. 

He wasn’t useless. 

He wasn’t a figurehead. 

“Deshanna,” Mahvir started, not backing down. 

“I agree with both of you,” Atisha cut in. “I can use Shartan’s help, but you shouldn’t over do it to the point you can’t breathe.” She looked at Teren. “If you’re willing, healer, you can watch us and stop Shartan when he over does it.” 

Mahvir bowed his head to Atisha. It wasn’t what he fully wanted but this close to winter perhaps it was all he could get. 

Deshanna and Hawen exchanged looks. “I don’t like it. Winter is approaching,” Deshanna continue. 

“It might be for the best you aided the clan _hahren_ in learning out langue. We still want you to help in the planning against Fen’Harel, but to fight in the winter,” – Hawen shook his head – “the risk is just too great. If we lose you, we lose the only one who can keep all of us together. Our people tried here to build a new homeland thanks to the king, but it fell apart. We can’t let go of what happened to the Dales or come together without you, Shartan.” 

Shianni nodded. “So, please, keep yourself safe during the winter.” 

“I’m not—”

“You are worthy to keep safe!” Deshanna shouted. 

Mahvir gritted his teeth. 

“Please,” Hawen added. 

Atisha just looked at him. Her gaze pleading. 

Mahvir looked away from her. He knew she wanted him to come forward as Dirthamen. Perhaps she thought it would get them stop treating him as someone who would fall apart at any second. 

It wasn’t worth being worshiped again. 

Never again. 

He wasn’t a god. 

Yet, he wasn’t one of the People either. 

What he was, he didn’t even know. 

A shuddering breath escaped Mahvir. “Very well.” 

The three relaxed. 

“On one condition.” Mahvir held up one finger. 

“If it’s about food,” Deshanna started. 

“No.” Though the thought had crossed his mind to ask for normal meals. “Come spring, I am allowed to help in the training and be more than just a useless figurehead.” 

They shifted. 

“Otherwise, whether you want me to or not, I will help in the battle training.” 

“Very well, but only when the weather warms,” Deshanna conceded. 

“Now, perhaps we can discuss more on the plan for gathering more of the People. As well as training the next year,” Mahvir stated. He moved closer to the fire.


	18. Butter

“My lord.”

A soft voice cut through the Fade.

Solas’s jaw tightened. He let out a small breath. One of the consequences of taking on the role of a leader was he couldn’t walk in the Fade uninterrupted. Yet, perhaps, soon the world would be mended. Everything would go back to the way it always should have been. The world would be whole, stable, and home once more. The way it had been meant to be. 

Solas’s eyes opened a slit. “Yes?” the question slipped from him as a barely contained growl. He couldn’t afford to lose face over being woken. 

“There’s a new member who wishes to speak with you.” he former second of Hawen’s clan shifted. His gaze flickered to the door of the tent. He looked back at Solas. He rung his together. “He’s very insistent on a meeting.” Sweat trickled down his face.

“Send him in.” It was rare for those in their group to come to Solas, especially at this hour. Solas stood, his gaze locked on the entrance to the tent where the other elf had vanished.

The flap parted.

Solas narrowed his eyes as a newcomer ducked into the tent. An arm held up the flap as the man hesitated to take a step. The sleeve had fallen just enough to reveal a metal brace covering most of his forearm. Intricate designs of the moons were etched into the metal, each showing different phases of both moons. Lettering wrapped around the tip of the brace.

A blur flashed at the edge of Solas’s vision.

The flap slipped from a sleeved arm. The sleeve fell, causing the brace to vanish beneath to folds of the thick, tattered material.

The newcomer stopped before him and stood straight. Strands of long, golden blond hair fell from under the hood which bulged where their ears where. It was clear this man was an elvhen.

Solas stiffened. His fingers twitched towards where his staff leaned close the bed.

“Nan,” the name fell from his lips as a breath. Elgar’nan. It couldn’t be. His heart quickened. Had the Breach released the others?

A cream-colored cat leapt up onto the man’s shoulder. Massive paws hung over his shoulder with the cat’s hind paws gripping to his back. A busy tail flashed in and out of view. The cat’s ears twitched one back making the fluff sticking out of the ears to shift. The fur was almost white gold in color. Her eyes a piercing blue. 

The cat curled her lip. The tips of her sharp fangs flashed before vanishing under the lip once more. No noise escaped the creature.

This was far from Elgar’nan. Solas’s brother would never allow an animal to rest on his shoulder.

“Oh, do forgive Butter.” The man bowed his head.

Solas stiffened. A chill trickled down his spin.

A playful note wove through this strange elf’s words, twisting through the air as if they were a song woven from the deepest magic.

The air shuddered around Solas. Each breath felt closer to the Fade than if he had been standing ten feet from a rift.

“She forgets her manners.” The man laughed and rubbed the back of his hooded head. “I am Inan,” he cheered as he gave a deep bow.

The cat, Butter as he’d called her, didn’t so much as twitch as he bowed. She kept her balance. The only movement from her head as she kept her gaze locked on Solas.

Solas’s eyes narrowed. What could this man possibly want? Though, if he was causing the Veil to weaken just by standing there…

A breath fled the man. It almost sounded like he had breathed, “my pride,” but that couldn’t have been right.

“Who are you?”

“I just said,” the man pouted, “I’m Inan! And this,” – he gestured to the cat – “this is Butter.”

The cat flicked her ear.

“Oh, yes, yes, I was getting there, Butter!” The man huffed. “I’ve come with a proposal for you, Little Pride.” He nodded. “Yup.”

Solas narrowed his eyes. This man had to be insane.

“You see the world as it is in the now. No looking back, not having your heart twisted with pain and gaze clouded with what could have been. Only see what is and where it could go.”

What? Solas’s lip twitched. “It can be returned to Elvhenan. I can undo this.” He lifted his hand.

“See beyond the threads of your pain, please, Little Pride,” the man pleaded, taking a step towards Solas. “You must see what your son sees.”

Son?

“Or all will be lost for this world, for you and him.”

This wasn’t right. Solas had no children. Nothing of his blood was left in this world. He had sealed all his family away outside of Mythal whom he’d… he’d—

Solas closed his eyes.

He had needed her power to recover. To save the world and undo everything. To return them to a better place. To renew his people. The People needed him. The real People. Those left lingering, dying from the mistake he’d made when creating the Veil. 

“Please.”

Solas’s eyes snapped open. “I have no children. Whatever family I once had abandoned reason long ago for nothing more than petty greed and power. I have no family.”

Inan froze. He stepped back, withdrawing a hand he had reached with towards Solas. “Your mind is twisted, heart hurt,” the elf muttered. “No, it’s wrong, all wrong. Father and son should never battle. Please.”

Solas locked his gaze with the shadows of Inan’s hood. “Stay and see what we seek to accomplish. You could be of great aid.”

The man backed away, shaking his head.

Butter’s ears pinned to her head. She hissed. Her blue eyes turned to flame.

“No, no. It’s all wrong. So wrong. If I stay, you will twist me, harness what I can do. I can’t, I won’t be the doom of life.”

Solas stepped forward, his hand extended towards the man. “You wouldn’t be it’s doom, but rather your People’s salvation. Help me remake Elvhenan.”

“I see.”

Solas’s lip twitched. His heart flickered. With Inan he wouldn’t need a new anchor. The feeling surrounded the man pointed to another way.

“I came only because she asked. She still believes you can be made to see the light of this world. The joys hidden within the shadows. But she can’t see this. See the beast taking your heart, Little Pride.”

“She?” Solas’s gaze flickered to Butter.

The cat’s whiskers twitched. A deep rumbled sounded from her. Her eyes narrowed to slits.

“Then I will go to your son.” Inan turned.

Solas stepped forward.

“Farewell, Little Pride.”

“Wait!”

A bright golden light wrapped around Inan and Butter.

Solas’s fingers closed on empty air. “ _Fenedhis_!”

There was nothing but the lingering traces of Inan’s magic dusting the air. A thin layer akin to the eternal song which had once hummed throughout Elvhenan.

Solas took a deep breath.

His heart raced.

He had lost his cool logic in the fact of what Inan had spoken of. It wouldn’t happen again.

A son?

It was unlikely. Mythal would have mentioned by now if Solas had fathered any of her children. 

Solas breathed. With each new breath his heart calmed. He needed to find that man. Not to the exclusion of looking for another means to create an anchor, but Inan could prove to be far more useful than an anchor.

*~ Mahvir ~*

Snowflakes danced and twirled at the slightest whim of the breeze. The flakes melted before they ever touch the tip of the flickering bonfire. The fresh, crisp scent which would cause Mahvir’s lungs to close was warded off by the acidic scent of fire.

Deshanna stood. Her shadow loomed out behind her. “First, I would like to thank Andruil for our hunters’ success today,” the keeper started with a bow of her head towards hunters. She glanced towards Mahvir.

Mahvir tilted his head towards the city elves who had little care for Dalish religion.

“And to the Maker as well,” Deshanna added with a small smile to Shianni.

Mahvir bowed his head. It was a start to including all his People’s beliefs. One day they could perhaps see it as they had in the Dales where both the creators and the Maker were worshiped side by side. Both holding a place in the People’s hearts as the Maker’s prophet had helped free them and the creators…

Mahvir shivered.

It was worth remembering his family had held such a place. They weren’t elves, but gods to the People.

What they were, he doubted anyone could even explain.

Mahvir’s gaze lingered on Theon and Valendrian. His son had insisted on joining them for the night. Theon had teased Teren stating he wasn’t dead yet and could sit with others during such a feast.

Valendrian’s sightless gaze was locked in Deshanna’s direction. He was seated beside Shianni on a few of the furs brought out for the elders.

“Now,” – Deshanna smiled. The flickering light caught her eyes – “I’ve requested Hawen and Shianni humor a tradition which is long standing in my clan as it went neglected the day we joined up with rest of you.”

Mahvir’s ears burned. This was far from necessary.

“It’s Lavellan clan tradition for the eldest among us to share on how we first met Shartan. I would like to expand our tradition so others can take part.” Her gaze came to rest on Valendrian.

Both of his eyebrows rose. “I was a baby. I don’t remember anything outside of stories,” Valendrian half chuckled, half coughed over this.

“I doubt you don’t have a few stories, brother.” Alaula smiled at him.

A shiver raced through Mahvir.

“No, none,” Valendrian replied. He bowed his head to Deshanna. “Please, continue with your tradition without a tale from me.”

Mahvir turned his gaze to the darkness outside the camp. “ _Fear_?” Mahvir probed for Fear’s mind. He’d sent Fear to scout around the camp.

“ _Get it off_!” Fear shrieked through their mental link.

A cream-colored cat raced after Fear, invisible in the darkness of night save for his eyes, through brush.

“ _Dirth_!”

There was little Mahvir could do other than keep an eye on the cat as she chased Fear. The only way he could confront the cat and the man she had come with was to reveal himself as Dirthamen in this moment or by freezing time to slip away while letting deceit take his place. The ruse would be discovered the moment any tried to speak with him. If he hadn’t come out as Shartan this wouldn’t have worked more because as part of tradition Deshanna would want him to tell a story at the end of the others speaking on how they had met him. 

No, Mahvir would just have to wait for the man to enter before he could do anything. Though, if he was right, than this was the one person who could stop Solas. Or one of the two who could. 

“ _Apologies, Fear, but you will have to play with Faith a while longer_.”

“ _Cruel_!”

While he had been watching Fear, Deshanna and moved further into the light so all could see her.

Deshanna opened her mouth, taking a deep breath.

A loud cawing shriek pierced the air.

Fear flew into the light and beelined for Mahvir.

The cream cat bounded after him.

Shouts filled the night as the People scattered out of the way of the odd pair.

Deshanna’s eyes twitched.

The cat bounded over to Mahvir. She came to an elegant stop and placed one massive paw on his leg.

“ _Good evening, Dirthamen_ ,” her voice echoed through his mind.

“ _Good evening, to you as well, Faith_.” Mahvir gave the slightest incline of his head. “ _Apologies, Butter_ ,” he corrected.

Butter’s whispers twitched. “ _My so much more polite than the wolf_.” She moved into his lap. She curled herself onto his good leg. Her long tail falling over his bad one. “ _I knew if I followed you pet long enough; he would lead me to you_.”

“ _I’m not your plaything_ ,” Fear snapped.

“Shartan?” Deshanna asked.

“I doubt she meant harm.” Mahvir gave Deshanna a small smile. “Only a small spat between cat and raven nothing to worry about.”

Butter purred.

Though, soon…

“Butter! Butter, Butter, Butter!” a shout filled the night. It was followed by quick flashes of gold light.

Shouts from the guards sounded.

Those gathered around the fire leapt to their feet. Children were ushered towards the elders. The hunters and guards took point. The city elves were behind them holding their makeshift weapons. Deshanna and Hawen drew their staves.

Shianni moved so she was before Valendrian.

Alaula and Atisha dropped back to guard Mahvir.

“Whoa!” a shout sounded from the front.

_Thump_! A body hit the hard ground. It was followed by a soft, nervous laugh.

“My apologies. Have any of you seen a cream-colored cat? I could have sworn she came this way.”

“Why should we tell you anything, shem,” snarled one of the guards.

“Quick? I guess I was a little quick, but why is that my name now?” The man clapped. “Oh, right, you must be the group I wanted to talk to. Yup! No other reason so many of the People would be here. I’m Inan. I’ve come to talk to your leader.” A short pause. “Shartan, yes, I think that was his name.”

Hawen and Deshanna exchanged looks before glancing at Shianni. The youngest out of the four, frowned and mouthed “what could he want?”

“I doubt he means harm,” Mahvir stated. “We could at least hear him out.”

The others hesitated.

“Very well. We will hear what he has to say.” Deshanna turned her gaze to the rest of the People. “Let him through.”

The People parted. The hooded figure of Inan made his way to the bonfire.

Hawen and Deshanna straightened. Atisha moved to join them and Shianni stood though she didn’t move far from Valendrian.

Mahvir didn’t make to stand as Butter had claimed his lap.

“Good evening,” Inan grinned as he drew to a stop before. “I’m Inan. I am assuming you four are the leaders united under Shartan.”

“How do you know about us?” Shianni took a step forward.

“Did Fen’Harel send you?” Hawen lifted his staff.

“What?” Inan cocked his head. “No, no.” He rubbed the back of hood. “I learned of you through another way. Butter told me.” He gestured to the cat.

“Come again?” Hawen gaped.

Deshanna took a step back. She eyed the cat.

“I’ve come to help.” Inan placed his hand over his heart. His left toe trailed a line on the ground dried by the fire. He bowed low. “I do believe I could be of assistance. While I refuse to harm another, I am a healer.”

“How did a cat lead you to us?” Shianni demanded.

Butter’s purring broke off. “ _Inan, only you and your grandson know what I am right now. I would rather keep it that way for now_.”

“Oh, right, right.”

“ _That man_.” Fear snapped his beak.

“What about me?” Inan asked Fear.

Fear let out a sharp caw. “ _He heard me_!”

“ _Don’t even think it, corrupted filth_.” Butter lashed her tail, one eye open to look up at Fear.

“Who are you talking to?” Deshanna asked.

“The bird.” Inan gestured to Fear.

Fear let out an indigent caw.

“I believe Inan can be of aid in stopping Fen’Harel,” Mahvir stated before the others could question Inan further on his odd behavior. “Besides, we can use all the help we can get at this point.”

“What if he’s a spy?” Hawen’s eyes narrowed.

“You could ask the same about anyone here,” Mahvir stated. “As I believe no one here is a spy, I believe Inan’s offer to help is earnest.”

“A fellow ancient would be welcome,” Atisha put in.

“He’s an ancient?” Hawen’s eyes widened.

“Rude! I’m not that old!”

No, only as old as time itself.

Mahvir smiled to himself.


	19. Face of Truth

There was nothing. Well, nothing outside of the fact Shartan’s book was a little too well written. Dorian had been unable to glean much about the elf even from his own book. There was little about him even from the material spread out across the table before Dorian. This, it was turning out to be a nigh impossible task.

Dorian leaned back in his seat.

He needed solid proof, or the Inquisitor would be swept up forever in the false Shartan’s lies. There was no way he would let his best friend ever fall under the sway of such an elf.

Dorian set down a scroll and rubbed the fatigue from his eyes.

It was an endless circle of nothing. No wonder so many scholars in the south doubted Shartan’s existence. All Dorian had found was just enough to prove there was once an elf by the name of Shartan. An elf who had been Andraste’s champion and burned alongside the rest of her generals in public.

In public?

Dorian frowned. He straightened and shifted through the scrolls on the table.

Ah, there it was.

He pulled the records of the day to him.

There had been a little on the reports of Andraste’s generals outside of the fact they were dead. Yet, there was even less on Shartan. Outside of the fact he had been among those captured, there was nothing recording his death.

Dorian shifted through the ancient tome.

There had to be at least one report – there!

He paused on an entry:

_Nothing remains of Shartan, not even ashes to be scattered and forgotten. It is as if he vanished in the wake of his mistress’s death. None saw him after the moment when flames engulfed his left side. Nothing but Andraste drew the eye of any here this day. Perhaps the Maker wished for her champion to remain at Andrate’s side, if one believes in such matters. Or he managed to escape without drawing attention of any around him._

_What is more likely is the flames consumed him entirely, leaving nothing to remember the heretic elf behind. My master will be pleased with this development as he can at long last wipe clean the shame of letting such a prize as Shartan slip through his fingers._

Master?

Dorian rubbed his chin. Perhaps he had come across another reference to Shartan in one of the earlier writings. Though, not one which had mentioned him by name. One Dorian had read during his time under Alexius when they had been studying time manipulation.

Dorian stood and crossed to the bookshelf in his office. He pulled down a few of the old books he had gotten from Alexius in order to continue research into time after the former Magister Gereon Alexius had been judged to serve the mages by Mahvir. A kind fate… one which spoke volumes to just how kind Mahvir could be.

After this, Dorian had asked for all his old research and materials. Mahvir had passed them over, stating Dorian would get more use out of them than he ever would.

Dorian pulled one volume from the shelf. One that had belonged to the Alexius’s line, and Alexius himself had spent many hours poring over it. Dorian had flicked through it when it had first come into his possession. He never found much use outside of the notes near to when the elves had first escaped during Andraste’s Holy War.

The book fell open on his desk. Dorian flicked through the worn pages until he came to the faded writing near the center. The writing had changed. There were points where the writer had almost broken through the page. 

_One of the slaves has shown no signs of aging over the decades my family has had him. I ordered him to be brought before me. There was something odd about him. He was average for an elf in height, although he was very weak physically. I questioned him on how he was able to keep up with the work pace._

_The slave never spoke. He kept his eyes locked on the floor, never once looking to me._

_I asked again._

_Nothing._

_It was as if he were deaf. Of course, I beat him like any slave who would dare defy me. All this got was for him to look at me._

_It was there in his eyes. The moment he lifted his gaze into the light, I knew he wasn’t a normal elf._

_They were a dark purple, black only when in shadow._

Dorian froze.

Dark purple?

The same color as Mahvir’s eyes. Mahvir’s eyes were black when shadows were cast over them.

No, no. It couldn’t be Mahvir. He was only in his late twenties.

_Yet, what frightened me the most wasn’t the odd color of his eyes. It was the sheer amount of knowledge I saw there, in a slave who appeared no older than his mid-twenties._

It was the same as Mahvir. His eyes had reflected more knowledge and pain than someone his age should have known. This didn’t mean anything. There was very little Dorian and the others knew about Mahvir’s life before the Inquisition. He had never mentioned parents or anything unless asked.

His life could have been filled with more hardship and pain than any in their twenties should have lived through. Just what they had gone through had been more than most people could have handled.

There was also the fact this elf might not even be Shartan to begin with.

Dorian lifted the book.

A sheet fell from between the pages near the end.

Dorian frowned and lifted the sheet. Written on the back was a warning:

_Avoid him, avoid Shartan at all costs. He is far older and more powerful than even I could have guessed. An immortal unable to die with powers over time itself._

Dorian unfolded the sheet.

No.

His gaze locked on a faded painting of a familiar elf. Only two matters leapt out as being different. There was no sign of the blood writing Mahvir wore to honor Dirthamen and this elf’s chin. It wasn’t narrow and ill-suited for Mahvir’s features. Rather the chin was clift, almost as severe as Solas’s but not quite. No hair could be seen on him. Though this was common practice in the ancient imperium to make male and female slaves appear almost the same. It made this elf look almost like Solas. His nose was Mahvir’s. Everything was like looking at an image of his best friend without his hair, blood writing, and with a different chin.

Perhaps saying he was like Solas was a mistake. All Dorian could see of the ancient elf was in the chin, a little of the severe cheekbones, otherwise his face was narrower than Solas’s. His eyebrows thin, more shaped just like Mahvir’s.

“Mahvir is,” the name lodged in his throat.

But, wait, no. The eyewitness stated Shartan’s entire left side had caught flame. If Mahvir and Shartan were the same person than his left side would be marred by severe burn scars.

It was far more likely Mahvir was related to Shartan.

Then there was the fact Shartan looked like Solas as well.

Ancient elves still lived. Solas and those at Mythal’s temple had to prove this much. Was it possible Shartan was an ancient elf? Yet this would mean he had lied about being born into slavery, right?

It was a matter to bring before Mahvir…

Yet, if Mahvir was related to Shartan then – Dorian sank into his chair – then it was possible he was the false Shartan.

Vile burned his throat.

Mahvir would never claim as much though. He respected both the Chantry and his own People’s traditions far too much to put on a false face.

The image… it couldn’t have been a fake. It was too faded and only a few had access to this book. None of which had seen the Inqusitor until they no longer had access to said book. And the warning on the back, no this had to be a real painting of Shartan. One of the few which remained.

A hollow laugh fled Dorian.

All images of Shartan depicted him without hair. It had to be a blow to the man if he still lived. For his slave image to be the one immortalized.

Dorian rubbed his eyes. He needed answers and the surest way to them was to speak with Mahvir. Just, not now. Not when it was still fresh. He needed time. A moment to fully grasp everything he had just stumbled across.

*~ Mahvir ~*

A blast of freezing air swept through the _aravel_.

“All those chosen are heading into Highever,” Shianni informed them as the door into Teren’s _aravel_ closed behind her.

“Good.” Hawen nodded even as he shivered.

Mahvir turned his attention to the rest of the group as Shianni settled beside Valendrian. She pulled off the fur she’d been given when she’d seen the others off and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Warmth crept back over the small space more from the sheer number of them there than anything else.

“We should focus on restocking what we can from around Highever,” Hawen started after a few moments. “There might still be a few herbs the snow hasn’t killed.”

“Not to mention we need ironbark,” Deshanna added. “But neither of our clans have roamed here before.”

Mahvir bowed his head. “There is a little in the area. I used some of it a while ago while traveling.”

“You mean in one of your toys.” Deshanna’s eyes glittered with her knowing smile.

Mahvir chuckled. “Well, yes.”

“How dangerous is this area?” Hawen asked. “Most locations are well guarded by sylvan.”

Shianni shivered. “I don’t much like the sound of that. I’d rather avoid possessed trees.”

“Unfortunately, ironbark is only possible in places where the Veil is thin.” Hawen rubbed his eyes. “Which means sylvan are likely.”

“Not all sylvan are aggressive.”

Deshanna snorted. “Oh, yes, I’m well aware of the one near Zathrian’s clan he once spoke of who was ‘friendly’ if one didn’t provoke it.” 

“Is there another way to get weapons we need?” Shianni asked. “I know the crafters are working on the leathers from all successful hunts for armor, but isn’t there another way we can get weapons?”

“We can’t just walk into a shem city and ask for weapons,” Hawen pointed out. “They’d be more likely to arrest us.”

“I know.” Shianni shook her head. “But there are mines we could go to at night to get ore.”

“And do what with it?” Atisha asked. “The clans don’t have forges built for weaponry.”

“All of our metal is traded for.” Deshanna bowed her head.

“If we want to stand against the Dread Wolf, we’re going to need an ample supply of ironbark.” Hawen rubbed his temples. “Even then we still won’t have the sheer numbers he could have amassed.”

“Or a way to counter him, even if the humans join forces with us.” Deshanna closed her eyes. “He is a creator after all.”

Shianni frowned. “Are you certain he’s really all powerful?”

“He is very powerful,” Atisha stated. “Only another of the nine could hope to stand against any of the other.”

“But—”

Valendrian placed his hand on her shoulder. He bowed his head to Atisha. “Please forgive us. Both Shianni and I grew up only knowing the teachings of the Chantry. Can you tell us just how powerful the nine are?”

Atisha bowed her head. “Of course. I forget there is another religion now. Perhaps a brief overview as the Dalish understand the nine first.” She looked to the four Dalish.

“ _Hahren_ Theon, _Hahren_ Evania, if you two would do the honors?” Mahvir bowed to the two elders and keepers of their People’s history.

“Of course,” Evania straightened. “The nine were led by Elgar’nan, the god vengeance, and Mythal, the great protector. Elgar’nan was the eldest of the sun who overthrew his father. He is known as the All-Father while Mythal is known as the All-Mother. Where Elgar’nan is the spirit of vengeance and fatherhood, Mythal is the protector, justice, and motherhood.”

“Their eldest children are the twins Falon’Din and Dirthamen,” Theon picked up. “For the basics of it, Falon’Din is the guide to the dead and the god of fortune. His twin, Dirthamen, is the keeper of secrets and knowledge. Best known from the tale of his taming of two ancient demons of Fear and Deceit. They are said to take the form of ravens.”

“ _Said to_ ,” Fear snapped his beak. “ _Honestly, I expected more of you mortal old one_!”

Mahvir glanced at Fear from where he and Deceit were nested on his pillow.

Fear hopped off the pillow, features fluffed. “ _He should know, I am the one who does all the ‘carrying’ in that dumb story. She doesn’t do anything_.” He gestured back to Deceit with his beak.

Fear hopped onto Mahvir’s bad leg. “ _Annoying! Let them hear me, Dirth. I’ll give them the real lesson in your history. Not some brushing over. They would know all your fears_.”

“ _Oh, yes, now Dirthy will let them hear you_.” Deceit tossed her head back and let out a loud caw.

“What are your ravens doing?” Shianni asked, breaking off the continued lesson Mahvir hadn’t been listening to thanks to Fear.

All eyes turned to Fear.

Fear puffed up. He tossed his head so he could take in all those around him.

“ _Basking in it makes this so much like our old worshipers_ ,” Deceit cawed. “ _Take it all in Oaf. It will be the last time you get so many staring at you_.”

Fear went low. “ _You little_ —”

Mahvir cleared his throat. “They merely want attention.” Which they did. “Please continue on.”

“What the _hahren_ were saying is true,” Atisha started, eyeing the two ravens, “but perhaps an easier way to look at the creators is to break them up by domains of power.”

“What do you mean by ‘domains of power’?” Evania asked. 

“Ah!” Theon grinned, face lighting up. “I see, you mean like how Dirthamen knew we would lose our history, culture, and language. Thus, he prepared by writing volumes over all of it?”

“He did? You mean the books the two of you mentioned before?” Shianni cocked her head.

“Yes.” Evania nodded. “But this would mean secrets and knowledge is time as you told us he could see all possible futures.”

“Only the Maker has such a power,” Shianni denied.

Mahvir sighed. He reached over and touched Shianni’s hand. “No one is asking you to forgo your religion, but to understand what Fen’Harel might just be capable of. It would be wise to learn everything we can about him.”

“All right.” Shianni clutched her hands.

“Given Fen’Harel created the Veil to lock away the other seven, what would his domain be considered?” Hawen asked.

Shianni frowned but didn’t speak this time around.

“The dream realm,” Atisha answered. “Fen’Harel, long before the split among the nine between himself, was once known as the Dream Guardian for his abilities to keep the People safe while they slept during the war with the shadow ones.”

“Shadow ones?” Deshanna’s eyes widened. “Do you mean the Forgotten? If so, our teachings say they were always at war with the creators and Fen’Harel tricked both at the same time, sealing them in their respective realms.”

“This is false.” Atisha breathed. “The war with those you call the Forgotten Ones, ended long before the nine were seen as gods. It did end by Fen’Harel’s hand as he did seal them in the Abyss. The cost was dear to him.”

Mahvir’s lip twitched. He swallowed the urge to laugh at how Solas had disliked any mention of his sudden aging and baldness. It had been a side effect of spending so much time in the Abyss. 

“However, Solas’s or Fen’Harel’s true abilities rest in what he can do with dreams and nightmares, with the very essence of the Fade.” Atisha’s eyes narrowed. “He has three forms: his elvhen one, of course, a white wolf many called his dream from, and a shadowy beast of a wolf known as his nightmare form.

“He can summon massive meteors from the Fade itself.”

“A few of my hunters reported him using such an ability while with the Inquisitor,” Hawen informed them. “It was powerful by the sounds of it and cut down the demons attacking them.”

Atisha shook her head. “He most likely used a scaled down version for several reasons.” She held up a finger, “One, he had just woken a year prior from what I could gather and thus was still in a weakened state. Two,” – she raised another finger – “it is very likely the Veil is affecting him.” Her eyes narrowed. “The world feels off even to me. I can’t imagine what it’s doing to Fen’Harel. He could have been very disoriented upon first waking. Three,” – her next finger rose – “it is very likely he didn’t want those around him to guess he was an ancient, let alone one of the nine Creators.”

Color drained from Hawen. “How much more powerful could his abilities be then?”

“I’ve never seen Fen’Harel battle, especially in his prime before the Abyss took some of his strength. The only ones who could recount such abilities are Mythal and my master, Dirthamen.” Atisha’s eyes flickered to Mahvir before returning to the others. “I did see the battlefields after he had fought one of the other nine. Like the others, he tended to avoid fighting my master directly. The very landscape changed wherever the creators fought one another. When Fen’Harel fought it was no different, especially if had amplified his power by using the bow of the slow arrow.”

“In the legend of the slow arrow, all it did was strike once the boar was too distracted.” Theon’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re saying it could do far more than strike when the time was just right, then it must be a deadly weapon.”

“I doubt he has it,” Atisha informed them. “The bow was formed by the Fade. With the Veil in place it would be near impossible for him to recreate the bow.” Her features darkened. “What we should fear is if he can find his original staff and the rest of his armor. He is missing the wolf cowl and staff June made him before the split which is a good thing in the long run.”

“Why?” Shianni asked.

“Yes, missing pieces would cut down his power by a little but not by much.” Hawen pulled out his own staff. “I admit my staff helps to hone my abilities and direct them better, but it isn’t as if I fully need it.”

“You misunderstand,” Atisha stated. “June didn’t craft weapons and armor like any you’ve seen.” She closed her eyes. “If my master wished to show himself, he could show you his daggers and armor.” Her gaze flickered up to Mahvir before returning to the floor.

Hawen’s eyes followed hers. His eyes narrowed as they rested on Mahvir’s cane.

“It would make sense June would craft superior items.” Deshanna nodded. “But what could they do for a creator? It sounds as if they were powerful without weapons and armor.” A soft laugh fled her lips. “Though, I shouldn’t be shocked given they are the Creators.”

Atisha took a deep breath. “You are aware my master could see all moments in time and manipulate it around himself. What his armor and daggers did was enhance protection around himself as well as allow for the ravens to have better fusion with him. He added Fade runes to the daggers to draw on the abilities of Fear and Deceit while fused and even while they weren’t fused with him.”

Deceit preened. “ _Such elegant weapons and I adored the armor. Unlike your crude cane_.”

Hawen stood.

“Keeper Hawen?” Theon asked.

He didn’t speak. Instead he moved over to Mahvir’s staff.

_Fenedhis_ , it was this future.

Hawen knelt before the cane and lifted one of the hanging runes. “It can’t be,” he breathed. He turned his gaze to Atisha. “Atisha, you said your master is the only one who can make Fade runes, correct?”

“Correct, it requires a very weak connection to the Fade from my understanding of it. Why?”

He lifted the cane and held it out to Atisha.

She took the cane.

“Those are Fade runes, are they not?”

Atisha stiffened. “They,” – she swallowed – “are.” 

Hawen turned to Mahvir. “You’re him, aren’t you, Shartan? You’re Dirthamen.”


	20. Dirthamen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes for the second time tonight I misposted this chapter. First on fan fiction i posted it under my Trinity Blood story then here under the Blood of the People one.   
> I should learn not to post stories when tried.

Breathe.

Ringing filled Mahvir’s ears. He forced air through tightening airways. It was fine. Everything was fine. He had hoped… but of course not. Of course, the chances of him really getting to reveal himself only during the battle had been dwindling. But he had to find a way to enter the battle without being useless if he had to be in his natural state. Having his cane with him was the only way or he wouldn’t be able to walk very far or fast.

Just breathe.

Mahvir closed his eyes. He forced down another lung full of air.

Truth? Or lie?

His heart raced.

No, no-no!

So much depended on both. Too many choices blurred together down both forks. Humans would never trust another elvhen creator. Granted, they would never trust Shartan as it was. Yet, which was better for everyone. Could he unite his people as both Shartan and Dirthamen? What was right? Which held the best chances for all his People. 

Stay calm.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

His heart raced. The world rang.

He had to breathe.

The air stilled around him. Sound ceased.

Breathe.

An ache sliced deeper into his heart.

Everything was crumbling around him. _Fenedhis lasa_. If he could just breathe, just calm down, everything would be clearer. Or would it? His sight could see far, and yet, this had…

He didn’t want to be a god. If he didn’t lie, he would lose the city elves. His people would remain fractured. Perhaps? There was so much uncertainty. Yes, Shartan held more respect with both groups.

Silence rang in his ears.

He had to even his breathing.

He had to calm down.

“You’re fine, you’re safe.” The furs covering the bed shifted. “Everything is fine, Little Secret.” Warmth wrapped around Mahvir. “When you’re panicked, your vision clouds; you lose control of time itself and wall yourself off within a frozen world.”

Mahvir opened his eyes.

“It’s no way to live.” Inan wagged his finger.

Mahvir drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The air released. His heart pounded harder.

“You need to trust the People,” Inan continued, voice soft. “You are everything they have needed you to be their god, their liberator; their inquisitor.”

Their god? Being a “god” wasn’t a good thing. Being him had wrought nothing but pain for his family, the People he sought above all else to protect and ensure they had a future. Everytime he made a step in the right direction; the moment he was in the spotlight it had messed everything up. If only there had been another who could stop Solas through love rather than war. Another Solas would listen to who hadn’t worn the mask of a friend. 

The only time in almost eight thousand years Solas had listened to Mahvir, had been as the Inquisitor. Yet, even as the Inquisitor, Mahvir couldn’t reach Solas, couldn’t make him see beyond his goal of destroying the world. Sure, valuing those who lived in the now was a step in the right direction, but there was no step beyond this as the Inquisitor. As Shartan he could unite what remained of his People against Solas.

As Shartan…

“Your mind swells with chaos.” Inan’s thumb moved rhythmically over Mahvir’s forehead. “You believe you can’t unite humans and the People against Solas as anyone. Humans don’t trust you even as Shartan. They only trusted the Inquisitor because they needed to. As Dirthamen, they will never trust you.”

Yes, never.

“But you’re dwelling too much on this. There are more threads than just those. You can unite everyone against Solas and save the world and people you love.”

There was no way. All of him? To come out as a god again, to let them believe such a farce… how could Mahvir even consider such a thing? He wasn’t a god.

He wasn’t elvhen either.

Whatever his blood was didn’t matter. What did matter was stopping Solas and ensuring this world would go on.

“If I came out,” – Mahvir pulled back from Inan – “it would cause Solas to hunt us. I am not fool enough to believe none in this group are spies.”

“True enough.” Inan smiled. His eyes, shaped like seeds in the same shade of gray as Solas’s, sparkled. This and his high cheekbones were all Solas had in common with Inan. Elgar’nan looked closer to Inan than Solas ever had.

Mahvir breathed. His heart rate evened, and he was able to focus. “Inan, are you here because of what’s happening between Solas and myself?” Mahvir changed the subject.

“Hey, hey, no changing the subject!” Inan pouted. His eyes glittered as the pout melted into a soft smile. “Both your pain are deeper than others. It will affect more of the world in the here and now than theirs would. They are still recovering while Solas is,” – his gaze dropped – “stronger.”

“Forgive me, grandfather, I shouldn’t have brought this up.” Mahvir bowed his head. His gaze turned to the others frozen, trapped in the moment he had lost his calm. Yet, he needed to speak with Inan before the others.

“No trouble, Little Secret.” Inan grinned. “I knew long ago my boys would one day end up tearing apart the world. I still love them all the same. As I love you, Little Secret.”

Mahvir looked at Inan out of the corner of his eyes. “My thanks, grandfather, but…”

Love him? The last person to ever say such words to him had done so in secret without anyone else the wiser.

Andraste.

Even she hadn’t known the full extent of the mask Mahvir wore. She had wanted to find an elvhen creator or something linked to them in order to aid in the Holy War. She didn’t fully believe in the creators but did believe their People had and thus there would be relics which could aid them in the fight against the Imperium.

If he had told her…

A shiver raced through Mahvir.

If he told those he cared for now, everything would change. He would have to be careful with how he went about this.

Inan hummed under his breath. The small smile playing at the corners of his lips didn’t reach his eyes. He watched Mahvir, moving very little.

“You know, don’t you? The secret which shrouds my very existence?” The words came as a breath.

Inan hummed.

“There are so many lies, so many secrets kept hidden from the People, from my family, to tear them down would destroy the Dalish,” – his eyes narrowed, heart aching – “and those ancients who believed so strongly in us.”

“It’s not all a lie.” Inan’s hand was warm against Mahvir’s shoulder. “I couldn’t tell you what I am any more than you could see what my blood has done to you, your siblings, father, and uncle. What I can tell you is, I know,” – he swallowed – “I know I’m far from normal. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Mahvir smiled. “It shouldn’t matter why we’re different. All that should matter is helping the People.” Yes, helping all of them. “My true family.”

Inan bowed his head.

There was no more running. The best future lay where all three could be united and stand together. The only way they would ever have a home again was to have the groups work together: city, Dalish, and ancient. For them to unite and stand against Solas, to make him see this world wasn’t one to end. There was value in this world. For them to stand united against the threat which lurked beyond Solas.

For a nation to rise under the leadership of all three. This was always the goal, but it was impossible to achieve as Shartan alone, far more so as the Inquisitor. Though, he had never become the Inquisitor to achieve such a goal.

Humans would never like them. Yet, there were ways around this, ways to open their eyes to truths which surrounded why Solas had gained the following he had. Shartan was respected but could never equal the false promises Solas had dangled before the eyes of so many.

There was no going back. No more running.

He wasn’t just Mahvir or Shartan. He was Dirthamen. The secret which had lurked in the shadows of the nine for almost nine thousand years. Part of the reason the gap had formed between Elgar’nan and Mythal in the first place.

Dirthamen breathed. “You’re right. As all three, there is a higher chance of my People surviving this and moving into a better, brighter future.”

Inan cheered. “That’s the spirit!” Inan leapt to his feet. “Now,” – he clapped his hands together – “I should get back before you unfreeze time.” He leaned over, grinning. “I have a healing test to complete after all.”

Dirthamen chuckled. “Yes, what a shame it would be for them to discover your truth?”

“I am my truth.” Inan laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “I think.” He waved. “Bye!” He vanished in a flash of golden light.

Now for the hard part.

Dirthamen looked at his friends and family. Everything he loved was about to crumble around him. It was up to him to try and keep the bonds he had with son and great grandchild.

After all, there was nothing for him in a world frozen within a moment. The only point was to expand a moment into eternity. One which would never have the moment where they learned his secret come to pass.

Dirthamen drew in air.

No more running.

He released the pent-up breath.

Time resumed. 

“You are, right?” Hawen’s voice cut through a deep silence.

Dirthamen glanced at his son. The decision had been made, there was no going back despite the clouded eyes locked on him.

“I have gone by many names throughout my life,” Dirthamen started.

Hawen frowned. His brow furled until the bow of the valaslin fused. 

“I was born,” Dirthamen continued, “almost nine thousand years ago into the slavery of the _banal’ras sa_ , better known now as the Forgotten Ones.” His gaze lingered on Valendrian and Shianni. “I never lied about being born into slavery,” he preempted Shianni’s question. “No one ever asked me if I was born into Imperium slavery, most just assumed I was a thousand years ago.”

“Nine thousand?” Evania whispered. Her eyes widened. “Our history only goes back seven thousand six hundred years, to the founding of Arlathan.”

“Interesting, so the creators are at least two thousand four hundred years older than our ancient empire.” Theon bowed his head.

“More precisely the oldest of us is one thousand three hundred eighty-four years older than the Elvhenan.” Dirthamen gave a weak smile to his oldest friend. “That would be Elgar’nan and his twin brother Solas.”

Fear snapped his beak.

“Our history teaches us Elgar’nan is the eldest of the sun,” Deshanna stated.

“If he was born into slavery,” Hawen trailed off.

“Is our history wrong?” Evania fished. Her hands trembled.

Atisha huffed.

A cawing laugh came from Fear. “My, while I do love the sudden increase of all your fear, it is quite the assumption you lot are making about your history.”

Everyone stared at Fear.

Shianni’s mouth opened. “Did that raven just talk?”

Fear snapped his beak, feathers raised. “I’m am Fear, not a mere mortal raven. Since you can now hear me, get it through your head, mortal.”

“The legends of you taming two demons are true then?” A smile flickered at the corner of Hawen’s lips. “You are Dirthamen.”

“I am Mahvir, Shartan, Dirthamen; Dirth,” Dirthamen told him.

“Mahvir?” Hawen blinked. “As in Inquisitor Mahvir.”

“One in the same.” Theon’s eyes glittered with his grin. “I now understand how you managed to change so you appeared as one of us.” His eyes rested on Deceit. “You must be Deceit.”

She puffed up under his gaze. “Yup, it was all me!”

Fear placed his wing over his head. “Honestly.”

“No one asked you, Oaf.” Deceit bristled. 

“You are Dirthamen, but then why go by Shartan over a thousand years ago?” Deshanna asked, eye just as wide as the rest of the Dalish. “Your people would have followed you as Dirthamen back then.”

Dirthamen closed his eyes. A breath shuddered from his lips. “I never wanted to be viewed in the light I was towards the end of Elvhenan.”

“How are you injured?” Hawen asked.

“By a fire,” Dirthamen stated.

“No, I mean…” Hawen shifted.

Atisha laughed. “My master is powerful, yes, but he, like the other eight, does have a body the same in many as you and I.”

“In many ways?” Shianni asked.

Dirthamen looked to her and his son.

Valendrian had remained quiet through this. A small frown on his face while he followed what was going on.

Atisha rubbed her chin. “How to explain?”

“I will never be affected by the quickening and can never die.” Dirthamen tore his gaze from Valendrian. “It is possible to kill one of us as the others did with Mythal, but only to a degree. Mythal still lives even if she is in other forms than the one she was born to.”

“What do you mean then by you will never die?” Evania asked.

“You are aware I have a,” – his lips twitched – “gift.”

“You mean to see everything throughout time?” Evania asked.

Dirthamen bowed his head.

“Only the Maker has such an ability,” Shianni blurted out.

Proof then.

Time slowed as Dirthamen stood. He limped a little further into the aravel. He now stood closer to Theon than he had heartbeats before. The space was too small for him to have moved further without hitting someone while sped up in time. The movement had been enough though.

“I would never claim to be on the same level as the Maker,” Dirthamen started.

Shianni jumped. 

“However, I can’t deny, I am different from others of our People.”

“How?” Shianni gaped. “How did you get from the bed to there?”

“I sped myself up in time.” Dirthamen smiled. The smile felt weak, his heart weighed with the knowledge he was having to reveal all of this to his People. To the family he would rather have remained hidden within.

Shianni stared at him. “Are you the Maker then?”

“No.” Dirthamen shook his head. “Though, it is very possible both religions hold some truths within.” His gaze skimmed everyone there. “I will let you deliberate what will happen now.” His gaze stopped on his son and Shianni. “Especially given everything surrounding me.”

“Dirthamen—”

“Atisha, my cane.”

Atisha passed it to him.

Dirthamen vanished from their sight as he left the _aravel_.


	21. Future Plan

A soft light shimmered from the crystal Dirthamen held. He had moved away from the clan and settled himself behind a tree. The cold clung to his lungs and wrapped around Dirthamen.

“Do you have a moment, my friend?” Dorian asked.

A moment?

Dirthamen closed his eyes. Yet another seeking the truth from him. Yet another to be lost if the truth came over the crystal or even when they gathered together one more time. It would be ideal to tell him in person rather than now.

“Is it about Shartan?”

“It is.” Dorian took a deep breath. “I found a picture of him in one of Alexius’s books.”

“Yes?” Dirthamen pressed when the Magister didn’t continue.

“He looks like a cross between you and Solas.”

That was one way to describe Dirthamen… Shartan as far as Dorian was concerned.

“I must know, are you his descendant?”

“No,” Dirthamen stated. After all, one couldn’t be a descendant of one’s self. 

“Then, how do you look like him?”

Air shuddered through Dirthamen as a rasping breath. “Does it matter, Dorian?”

“It does.”

Dirthamen glanced at the snow covered the world.

The others would be done discussing what was to be done about him soon.

“Dorian, I promise I will explain everything when we’re face to face once more.”

“Mahvir,” Dorian started.

“Please understand,” Dirthamen interrupted him, “it will be far easier to explain everything then.”

“Since when have you wanted to do things the easy way?”

“Since it would border on absurdity if you heard the truth now.” And Dorian had been told portions of the truth all ready and never once believed him. Shartan lived. Yes, he lived on for all eternity, never to find an end.

“Mahvir.”

“Please, Dorian.”

A sigh sounded from the Magister. “Very well, but if you dodge me again then,” he trailed off.

“Understood and _ma serannas_ , _ma falon_.”

“On the matter you had me look into, I managed to find a lead and will continue to follow it. As well as working on gaining more of a following in the Imperium.”

“Good.” Dirthamen smiled.

The meeting was over. Dirthamen could just see Hawen and Deshanna leave the _aravel_. Shianni appeared a moment later, her movements slower.

“We’ll speak later, _ma falon_.”

A small sigh escaped Dorian. “Very well. Be safe, my friend.”

“You as well.”

Dirthamen tucked the dark crystal into his bag. The cold had spread through his body, numbing his leg and freezing his lung. He pulled out a small plant and breathed it in.

His hands trembled against the cane and tree as he pulled himself to his feet.

This was it.

The final moments spent as the figurehead Shartan. If they wouldn’t let him do anything as Shartan – it was laughable to think they would let him as Dirthamen. Why should a god have to do anything? It would be appalling in his People’s eyes for him to lift a finger to aid them.

Never.

Dirthamen straightened.

He would never be placed on the sidelines so he became a permanent figurehead. Someone to just protect. He could and would protect the People. They were his family. And he would protect this world.

“Master?” Hamin stepped out of the shadows with Renan, another of Dirthamen’s children. “What are you doing so far from the camp?”

“I’m only a few feet from it, Hamin.” Dirthamen smiled at his children.

Renan placed her hands on her hips. “You’re not hiding from everyone again are you, master?” she demanded with a small smile twitching at the corner of lips and eyes glittering.

“Never,” Dirthamen returned her playful smile with a small one of his own.

“Right.” Renan huffed. Her eyes softened. “What’s wrong, father? Your smile is a sad again.” She walked over to him. Her hand was gentle against his shoulder.

They needed to know.

Dirthamen bowed his head. “The children know.”

Renan frowned. “Know what?”

“Your identity as Dirthamen?” Hamin asked.

Dirthamen nodded.

“At least we can stop pretending we don’t know you.” Hamin smiled. “And get those Abyss be damned demons their own food so you don’t keep losing weight.”

Dirthamen chuckled. “They’re fine with—”

“They might be, you’re certainly not,” Hamin interrupted. His eyes flashed. “Listen, father, I am aware you hate food, but you need to eat. I don’t care if you take more than your allotted portion because of the demons.” Hamin’s eyes softened. “As one of your oldest, please listen, father, we can’t lose you.”

Dirthamen bowed his head. “We’ll discuss it with the other leaders.”

Hamin’s jaw tightened. “Very well, but I am certain they will see reason.”

“And if they don’t, we’ll beat it into them!” Renan punched the air.

“No, you won’t.” Dirthamen glared at her.

“All right, all right, I get it, no punching reason into people.”

“Renan, go to the others while they’re patrolling. Inform them what has happened,” Hamin instructed.

Renan set her jaw. “Last I checked Atisha and Vir were still in charge.”

Hamin’s eyes flashed. “One of us has to stay with Master.”

“Oh, and I’m not good enough to be with father?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Hamin’s voice shook with a soft growl. “You’re faster than I am.”

“Oh, you’re saying age is getting the better of you,” she teased.

“Enough!” Dirthamen stepped between his children. “Renan, do as Hamin says.” After all, Hamin didn’t want to leave Dirthamen.

“Fine, fine!” Renan waved over her shoulder as she set off. “Just don’t wipe their memories before I can tease them a little, brother!”

Hamin’s jaw tightened. “Next time Atisha says I go on patrol with her,” he released the last of the words as a long, low breath.

Dirthamen turned.

The others were looking for him.

He took a deep breath. Cold gripped his lungs. Here he went everything… again.

Dirthamen left the seclusion of the tree and headed for where the three were looking around. He used his cane to make an easier path through the deepening snow until he reached where the bonfire had melted it. The three stood around the fire, silence had fallen over them the closer Dirthamen drew to them.

“Has a decision been met?” Dirthamen asked. He stopped before them, hands resting on his cane.

“You are still Shartan, right?” Shianni asked.

“I am.”

Shianni bowed her head. “Then, yes, a decision has been made. You are still the champion of the Prophet and bride of the Maker. This is enough for me and my people to continue believing in and following you.”

Hawen and Deshanna exchanged glances.

“I still don’t understand why you would go by Shartan back then and now over Dirthamen,” Hawen started. “Our people still believed in you back then. We hadn’t lost every part of our religion, right?”

“I never wanted to be viewed as a creator. Even during the time of Elvhenan, I spent most of my time moving among the People over being seen as such.”

“This is true.” Atisha smiled. “It is after all how you found us.” She looked at the others. “The question now, is what are you three going to do with this knowledge?”

“The clans should know a creator never abandoned them.” Deshanna’s eyes softened with a smile. “After all, you returned to us every few years and even lived with us while raising Alaula.”

Never left them? Yet, Dirthamen had in fact he had never told them who he had once been.

“This could sway those who have sided with the Dread Wolf back to us,” Hawen added. “The knowledge a creator is fighting for this world, one far more respected than the Dread Wolf, is something no Dalish can ignore.” 

“But this world hasn’t been kind to our people,” Shianni pointed out. “Many view the idea of returning to a time where we ruled as being far better than living forever as servants or on the run. Just because one of your creators and the champion of the Maker’s Prophet is fighting for this world doesn’t mean they will turn on the idea of no longer being suppressed.”

“This is very true.” Dirthamen’s gaze swept over the group. “It will sway some of the traditionalist among Solas’s group, but not so many it will turn the tide.”

Hawen’s jaw tightened. “Have the lenen learned nothing then? You are far better than the Dread Wolf. The first teacher of our People. The keeper of secrets and knowledge alike.”

“Yet, when you look at me compared to Solas, I don’t appear to be anything more than cripple,” Dirthamen pointed out.

Deshanna closed her eyes.

“It’s why no one saw me as Dirthamen before now or even as Shartan. The only reason you learned the truth was because you knew I am the only one capable of crafting fade runes.”

Hawen dropped his gaze. “This is true.”

“There is still hope, however. I have a plan which will help us secure a nation of our own once more.”

“You do?” Shianni stared. “But without Andraste there to make such a promise to our People, then how?”

“How many would want to return to the way things were before this mess started? There has been discontent among the People for centuries over the way we’re treated. Given everything happening and how much our People have given for the world since the fourth blight, we have enough leverage to help spur on the notion of a nation to the other leaders of Thedas.”

“Since the fourth blight?” Hawen frowned. “I realize one of our People stopped the fifth blight and you were the Inquisitor, but how does the fourth…”

“One of our People stopped the fourth as well.” Dirthamen smiled. “This makes three elvhen who have saved the world in a manner of speaking. And speaks even more to the discontent our People are in.”

“But King Alistair tried to give us a homeland after the events of the fifth blight. It fell apart.” Shianni shook her head. “I don’t see how this time would be any different.”

“It didn’t work for several reasons. One, there was no leader or governing body to unite our People. Two, our People have been split into three factions for over eight hundred years. Such differences don’t go away overnight. The mere fact the four of you are here shows you’re already working better together than the attempt back then.”

“That is because of you being Shartan,” Shianni stated.

“It is true my past has a lot to do with it. As does the fact our People have always respected age more than anything else.”

Hawen frowned. “If you vanished at the end of the war, this would fall apart. A new nation would follow the same fate as the last attempt. Wouldn’t it?”

“It depends on the government we enact.”

“Which would be?” Deshanna asked.

“Two leaders from each faction within our People as well as a set up to honor the culture of each while also melding them together. Our People believed in both the creators and the Maker during the time of the Dales. This could happen again.”

“I see. You would want two keepers, two _hahren_ from the city, and two from the ancient to lead our People with the bodies below them to help as well, those being the other _hahren_ and keepers?” Atisha nodded. “It would then follow, if you are letting each group elect their two, you would end up on the governing body or council, if you would rather call it that.”

Dirthamen’s lip twitched. “I would rather not.”

Deshanna chuckled. “You would be elected no matter what given all of who you are.”

A sigh escaped Dirthamen. There would be time to make such plans later, for now—

“We should return to the topic we were discussing before it who I am came out.”

The keepers frowned.

“The one over Solas’s abilities?” Shianni asked.

“Yes.” Dirthamen bowed his head. A soft wheeze escaped him. The cold wrapped his lungs, restricting his breathing with every passing moment.

“Let’s go to an _aravel_ to continue this.” Deshanna eyed him. “It will be more comfortable for all of us.”

“Agreed.” Hamin looked at Dirthamen out of the corner of his eye. “I will be accompanying you, if that is all right, Keepers; _Hahren_.” He bowed his head to the three. A charming smile lit his face.

Shianni blinked. “Of course.” 

They set off for Deshanna’s _aravel_.

“What was your name?” Shianni asked. She flushed. “Forgive me, but I don’t think I’ve been introduced to everyone yet.”

“Nothing to forgive. We sentinels do tend to keep to ourselves outside of Atisha and Vir.” Hamin bowed his head. “I’m Hamin, second oldest among the sentinels.”

“Are you the oldest then?” Shianni asked Atisha.

Atisha snorted.

Hamin smiled. “No, that honor goes to Eth.”

“Oh.”

They stopped before the _aravel_.

“One moment.” Deshanna vanished inside.

She was cleaning it.

Dirthamen let out a strained breath.

Of course, she was. What was he to except? After all, he wasn’t just Shartan anymore.

“Keeper Deshanna,” Dirthamen called, “there really is no need to go out of your way for me.” Besides her _aravel_ was always neat and tidy. As far as he had seen at least which had only been a few times in the past when she wanted to speak with him out of the cold, snow, or rain. 

Hawen rubbed his eyes. “I’ll speak with her.” He leapt into the _aravel_. “Deshanna,” – the door had been left ajar – “you’re leaving him out in the cold for a small amount of cleaning.”

“Right. Right.” Deshanna reappeared. “Ir abelas, Dirthamen.” She held out her hand to him.

“There was never a need to clean, old friend.” Dirthamen smiled.

Deshanna flushed. She averted her gaze.

“ _Ma serennas_.” Dirthamen took her hand.

Her hand trembled, but not from his weight. Dirthamen released Deshanna’s the moment he was in her _aravel_. His heart fluttered. This, it wasn’t right. They had been friends an hour ago. Now…

Everything had changed.


	22. Proof of Ability

“It would be easier to show you Solas’s abilities throughout the centuries than to explain it,” Dirthamen started when Hamin joined them.

“Show us?” Shianni asked. “Do you mean find him so he can attack us?”

Dirthamen laughed. “No.” He looked at Hamin.

“Understood, I will stop any from disturbing you.” He bowed his head and turned to the door.

“Each of you just needs to touch me.” Dirthamen returned his gaze to those around him. “Then all will be made clear.”

The keepers exchanged looks.

“Are you certain?” Hawen asked.

“I am still the same person you knew this morning, Keeper Hawen,” Dirthamen pointed out. He gave them a soft smile. “Besides this won’t work without contact. It will be hard enough the way I am planning to show you.”

Hawen shifted.

Deshanna closed her eyes. It was as if his words were a blade to the gut. “Very well,” the words fell from her lips as a strained breath. She placed a finger on his shoulder.

“Full hand, please, Keeper Deshanna.”

Her gaze flickered away from him. She nodded and rested her hand against his shoulder.

Shianni hesitated before placing her hand beside Deshanna’s.

Hawen took a deep breath. “If you’re certain…”

“I am.” Dirthamen met the keeper’s gaze.

Hawen looked away before placing his hand on Dirthamen’s other shoulder.

“You as well, Atisha.”

Atisha bowed her head. She stood behind him and placed her hand beside Hawen’s. Her eyes closed.

“Close your eyes.” Dirthamen glanced at them.

The keepers closed their eyes.

“What?” Shianni asked.

“This won’t work if your eyes are open.”

Shianni frowned and glanced at Hamin. Her gaze flickered to the others around Dirthamen. She bowed her head, eyes closing.

Dirthamen closed his eyes. This would be easier if he could touch their temples, but he did only have two hands. He breathed.

The _aravel_ dissolved around them, replaced by a darkness illuminated by lights twinkling like stars further they were from them. The lights closest to them were images of different places, different times. Some of the now, others of the past and future. Dampened sounds and soft remnants of scents drifted from the images closest to them.

“What is this place?” Shianni breathed, eyes wide as she looked at the images hovering in darkness.

“A less chaotic form of what I see at any given moment,” Dirthamen explained.

“You mean you see all of this all the time?” Shianni mouth opened, gaze flickering from one image playing out to the next. “There are so many, how do you keep them all straight?”

“By ignoring them for the most part,” Dirthamen explained. “If there is something important or directly affecting those around me, it will come to the forefront.” He smiled. “Though this is far from the reason I am showing all of you this.”

Atisha frowned. “You’re muting some of your ability. This would affect your hearing, taste, smell, and touch as well. It’s why there were small pools placed in every temple within your chambers, to dampen the effect.”

Dirthamen chuckled. The sound felt hollow even to him. “True enough. As I stated, this is a far less chaotic version so as not to overwhelm all of you.”

“You can see what Fen’Harel is doing then?” Hawen asked.

“I can.”

“Then we don’t really need a spy there, would we? We have you.” Hawen tore his gaze from the images to Dirthamen.

“In theory, yes, I could. However, there are limits. If I wish to focus on events for long periods of time, I would have to close myself off to my surroundings. Much like we are doing now.”

“Which is why Hamin is guarding the door,” Atisha stated. “We can, while here, see if something is about to happen.”

“Unless it will greatly affect or harm us, when we enter the moments in time I wish to show you, it will be harder to see what is directly affecting the camp,” Dirthamen informed them. “In other words, my gifts do have drawbacks.”

The keepers exchanged glances.

“It’s no wonder you’re a creator, though. What you can see at any given moment,” Hawen trailed off with a shake of his head.

“This is how you’re going to show us what the Dread Wolf can do?” Deshanna asked.

Dirthamen bowed his head. “To understand my blood family and Solas’s full power, we should start at the beginning. Keep in mind, the moments are from eight thousand years or less in the past. It won’t fully reflect Solas’s abilities in the present.”

“Couldn’t you show us moments to come then?” Shianni asked.

“I could. However, in doing so it would set you to believe one future is more likely than another.” Dirthamen thought on the moment he wanted to show them first. “This first image is from the Dark War against the forgotten. Solas wasn’t yet at full power due to a lack of understanding around his own abilities.”

An image moved from the mass towards them. Light enveloped the group.

The light increased before dimming in layers of dust and dark clouded skies. A green tint clung to the sky in the distance a darkness as black as the deepest night overpowered the Fade tinted world.

Nothing but dust stirred from the wind whipping out across the barren landscape.

“What is this?” Shianni breathed. She turned, taking in the change in scenery.

A blur of white shot over a boulder. The howling wind drown out sounds from the animal as it bounded in and out of sight. It soon came into view through the dust storm.

A massive white wolf. The fur was muted thanks to layers of dust clinging to the unnaturally white fur. Apart from the whiteness of the fur and size, many could have mistaken this for a natural wolf from a distance.

Yet, close two more details stood out. First, around the wolf’s neck hung a familiar blackened half jaw of one of its kind. Leather wrapped around the jaw and allowed it hang from the wolf’s neck. It was not as loose as it would have from around the elf who the neckless belonged, but loose enough so it didn’t appear to be choking the wolf.

Then there were the wolf’s eyes. They were grey, sharp with an intelligent glint in them.

The massive wolf slid down into a sheltered area in the rocks were Dirthamen and the others stood. Blood tapped against the dusty ground from a large gash on the wolf’s shoulder and back.

The wolf shifted, its form shimmering as it moved forward. An elf appeared where the wolf had been stepping moments before.

“Fen’Harel,” Hawen breathed. “And this world?” His gaze moved from the figure of a younger Solas to the landscape.

There were differences between the Solas they had seen and the one here. For one he had hair and another he looked to be in his twenties rather than forties.

Clicking filled the air, slicing through the howling wind.

Solas grimaced. He pulled the rough staff from his back, gaze flickering over the boulders.

Shadows leapt from the dust.

“Maker’s breath!” Shianni jumped back.

Hawen and Deshanna backed up as if to protect Dirthamen.

“What is that?” Hawen’s hand moved to his staff.

“It can’t harm you,” Dirthamen stated. “This blade of the shadow ones, or blade of the forgotten if you would rather, exist only as an image of the past.”

The Blade straightened, skin drained of all but dark gray and black veins. It appeared akin to shriek among the darkspawn, but different. Its or his fingers had elongated, nails turned to blackened knives. His body was devoid of armor.

A rattling, clicking shriek filled the air. “At last,” the words hissed from the blade as he lowered his head. “One of the elders, rip for the kill. You’re mine.”

“You’d think so.” Solas grinned even as he went into a battle-ready stance. Solas backed up until he was backed into a corner.

Hawen frowned. “Why is he cornering himself?”

“You’ll see.”

Solas braced himself against the stone. A smear of blood coated the stone behind from where the wound touched the rock. His gaze flickered away from one blade to the boulders surrounding them.

More clicks sounded from around the rim.

Shianni shivered. “That sound is worse than the one made by Darkspawn.” She rubbed her arms.

More blades leapt into the small sheltered space.

Solas’s glanced over the new arrivals. He lowered his hand. Blood dripped from the tips of his dirt crusted fingers. Stone swirled around his fist.

“We have you now.” The blades of shadows moved closer. It bared down on Solas. The tip of it’s blade glittered in the little light. “Die, Elder!”

Black blood sprayed across ground and surrounding rock.

_Thud_! Dust ross around what little remained of the blade’s body.

“Did he…” A small breath came from those around Dirthamen.

“He did,” Dirthamen confirmed.

Solas had used the raw energy of the “Fade” to rip apart the body of his enemy.

“Which of you is next?” Solas smirked, the smile mirroring that of wolf’s grin.

More blades charged.

They skidded back from a raw blast of magic. Small wisps of green light flickered from Solas’s hand. He gritted his teeth.

Blood tapped against the ground. “Abyss’s taint,” Solas cursed.

“Uncle!”

A dark figure dropped through the dusty air in a blur of leathers. Bone flashed in the little light. It vanished into the skull of the enemy the figure landed on.

An owl appeared, diving after the figure. The owl landed near to Solas. It started to grow, shifting its form from an owl into…

“Creators, Falon’Din,” Deshanna breathed.

“What happened to the trapping them plan?” Falon’Din demanded. “You went the wrong way.”

_Thump_! Dust rose from where the dark figure had fallen flat on his back.

“Dirth!” Falon shout.

The figure vanished before a blade would have struck where he’d been. He reappeared next to Falon’Din in the same heartbeat.

“Are you all right, brother?” Falon glanced at Dirth even as he moved as if to guard both Dirth and Solas.

“Fine,” Dirth replied.

“Wait,” a small smile appeared on Hawen’s face. His look was mirrored by Deshanna. “Is that your younger self?”

Dirthamen bowed his head. 

“Good.” Falon nodded.

Falon shot fire towards the approaching enemy. He charged, spinning a crude scythe around. The rough blade sliced into the arm of an enemy.

A shriek filled the air.

“Abyss’s taint!” Falon exclaimed. “More are coming.”

“Which is why I said not to fly,” Solas growled.

“Oh.” Falon twisted and slashed through the arm of the blade he was fighting. “Makes sense.”

Dirth was binding Solas’s injured arm with a few torn pieces of hide. Solas fired a few shots of lightning with his free hand.

Falon leapt back. “Uncle, use your bow thingy. It will get rid of the reinforcements.”

“Yes, I’ll get right on that,” he stated as he shot another wave of lightning towards the enemy.

“I can stabilize your grip,” Dirth’s voice was small compared to the other two.

“Whoa! I never said that, Dirth. The bow doesn’t like you.” Falon’s eyes widened until the white dominated the eyes. “Bad idea! Not happening!”

“I won’t touch it, just help Uncle.”

“Focus, Falon.”

“Fine, fine.” Falon turned back to the enemy. “I’ll keep them back, but don’t even think about touching the bow, Dirth.”

Dirth bowed his head.

“What would happen if you touched it?” Hawen asked as Solas and Dirthamen’s younger got into position.

A simple recurve bow materialized in Solas’s hands.

“It would rip apart my hands,” Dirthamen stated.

“What?!” both Hawen and Deshanna exclaimed. “Then why are you helping him?” Deshanna demanded.

“It was the surest means to wipe out the enemy at the time. Falon had barely awoken to his abilities and I didn’t have Fear and Deceit for wider ranged attacks. Thus Solas’s Bow of the Slow Arrow, was really the only option left to us.”

Solas hefted the bow. “Just brace and help with the drawing, Dirth. I can do most of the drawing of the bow.”

Dirth stepped in behind Solas. He took Solas’s hand on the string with both of his. “Ready.”

Solas nodded.

They drew back Solas’s hand. A green arrow appeared.

“Release!” Solas ordered.

Dirth released Solas’s hand in the same moment Solas let go of the string. The arrow vanished into the sky.

The dusty air was ripped asunder. Green light flooded the space. Massive boulders raced from the sky, blazing with the familiar green fire.

The enemy backed away, clicking in fear. They leapt up the boulders.

“No, you don’t!” Falon leapt. His scythe sank into the back of one of the Blades of the Shadow Ones.

“Let’s see what he did,” Dirthamen stated.

The world blurred. It steadied itself a few miles from where they had stood before. They were now hovering in the sky.

“What the,” Shianni breathed.

Below a massive group of the blades were raced over the barren land.

A flash appeared in the sky near to where Dirthamen and the others stood.

The sky was torn once more.

The boulders slammed into the enemy below. They left nothing alive in the wake. Only craters remained where the blades had been marching moments before.

“What?” Shianni had her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Hawen stared at the ground.

“This is,” Deshanna breathed.

“What are,” Hawen started, “the other creators capable of?” He tore his gaze from Dirthamen. “Can you show us?”

Dirthamen bowed his head. The dusty, scarred landscaped dissolved into darkness. Soon they were back in the chaotic version of what he saw.

It would go faster to give them a run down a few examples. Still, the first vision was what had originally been asked for. “Very well, I can show and summarize what the others could before the fall of Elvhenan.”

Hawen bowed. “ _Ma serannas_ , Dirthamen.”

A figure appeared in the space. He wore extravagant robes, the base of which were white. Reds, yellows, and oranges were placed over the white towards the center of the robes and gold trimmed the robes. A solid gold sun framed his head.

The man’s long, golden hair fell down his back and his amber gaze was locked on them. His features were stern, almost narrow.

“This is Elgar’nan,” Dirthamen explained.

“Or legends say he pulled down the sun into earth,” Deshanna stated.

“His abilities were those of fire, lava, and plasma,” Dirthamen started. “When he awoke to his abilities, he destroyed the part of the mount he and Solas had been standing moments before. Solas only just managed to be unharmed by throwing up a barrier around himself when it happened.

“Elgar’nan preferred style was close range combat supplemented with his long-ranged fire and plasma attacks. He was well known for coating his body in fire and lava until he turned the ground under him to glass. His long-ranged abilities were known to sear scars into the ground or even wipeout life around him, searing it until only ashes remained.”

“He sounds destructive,” Shianni commented.

“He was,” Dirthamen stated.

“He is the god of vengeance and fatherhood,” Hawen pointed out. “As for the searing everything to ash, this has been known in our stories for ages now. It was also said he has abilities over light and lightning.”

Dirthamen bowed his head. “He does. However, he preferred his abilities over fire when in combat. He used his ability to cause flashes of light to blind his enemy and lightning to enhance his fire abilities.”

Hawen frowned.

Deshanna moved closer to the image of Elgar’nan. A frown also pulled at her lips. “It would have been nice to meet him to see his abilities firsthand.”

No, it really wouldn’t have been.

“He has a very nasty temper,” Dirthamen stated. Then there was the fact he would always view normal members of the People as beneath him. Dirthamen wouldn’t say anything like this given how they were viewed in the People’s eyes. 

The image of Elgar’nan dissolved into the surrounding area. Solas replaced him, but not dressed as he had been in the last vision or even as he had been while with the Inquisition. Rather he wore his entire set of armor June had crafted him before the full split among the nine of them. This includes the wolf head cowl and elegant staff he was missing in this time. More because Dirthamen had taken them from Solas after he had fallen into uthenera.

“Solas is Elgar’nan’s younger twin brother,” Dirthamen started. “According to him and Elgar’nan they were born only minutes apart. Where Elgar’nan tended to use his strength and temper, Solas was more levelheaded and calmer. He used cunning to outwit those he fought against, especially later in life.

“Before the split, he was known by the People as the Dream Guardian for his abilities to keep them safe while they slept. This is where most of the stories about him in the dreams and nightmares of the People came from.

“Where Elgar’nan’s domain would be considered light and the sun, Solas is dreams and the Fade. While in the Fade, there is no dream alive or ever to have existed who can match him. His abilities stim beyond that of a rift mage. He tends to use his abilities to strike fear in the enemy in order to win the battle just as it starts.

“He was the one who created the start of the barrier between the world in the Abyss at the end of the Dark War against the Forgotten Ones. Twenty thousand years ago, he created the Veil to seal away the others.”

“What?” Shianni gasped. “But the Veil has always been there.”

Dirthamen smiled at the girl. “I wish they had been; it would make the idea of tearing it down to remake Elvhenan an impossible one.”

“If he created the Veil, then why can’t he just tear it down now?” Hawen asked, frowning.

“He’s not at full power. Given a century or so of being awake and he will be close enough to the levels he was when he first created the Veil.”

“That long, he’d be dead by then, right? So, we have nothing to worry about?” Shianni breath. “Thank the Maker.”

“Apologies, _Hahren_ Shianni, but no.”

“No? But you just said…”

Dirthamen held up his hand. “Yes, under normal circumstances, it would take one of us a century to regain our full powers after being in uthenera for so long, but you misunderstand something.”

“What?”

“We aren’t affected by the quickening.”

Hawen’s and Deshanna’s eyes widened. Shianni gaped.

“Meaning all nine of us will never age passed what we appear as physically in the images I am showing you or as I appear now. I’ve remained appearing twenty-five since I turned twenty-five. Solas only aged from his twenties because of the adverse effects the Abyss had on him when he sealed away the Forgotten.

“Then there is also the fact the Inquisition had to track down and speak with Mythal for her aid against Corypheus which in turn led Solas to being able to find her after the fighting had ended.”

“Mythal’s awake!” Hawen stepped forward. “Then we should find her as well.”

“She can’t do much to aid us without a physical form,” Dirthamen stated.

“What?” Deshanna frowned.

“After Solas found her, he took the power she had amassed since being awake and,” – Dirthamen’s lips twitched – “alive this entire time. Which makes more of a hypocrite then anything else.”

“So he can tear down the Veil then?” Shianni was shaking.

Dirthamen shook his head.

Deshanna was frowning.

“Mythal’s abilities helped with regaining some of his strength but it was also a good move to start to isolate himself and make it harder for people to get in close to stop him.”

“How so?” Hawen asked.

“How is the Fen’Harel a hypocrite?” Deshanna asked before Dirthamen could answer Hawen’s question.

Dirthamen sighed and rubbed his eyes. “He imprisoned the other seven for the murder of Mythal’s physical form.”

The two keepers stared at him.

Shianni frowned. “But you just said you can’t die, right?”

“You misunderstand,” Atisha spoke this time. “The creators have near mortal forms, as stated before. Dirthamen’s current health state is because of his fact. Yet, when all but my master’s natural state is killed, they don’t die. Mythal would have been reduced to the purest form herself, a sort of spirit. She could then in turn inhabit other bodies but could never be destroyed. Her powers could be reset but not fully taken.

“If Dirthamen is killed, rather being reduced to this state of being, his abilities to reset time on himself would kick in and his mind would be returned to a point in time before his death.” Atisha paused. “From my understanding it, the resets aren’t far back in time, at most a day.” She looked at Dirthamen. 

Dirthamen bowed his head.

“What the other seven did was take Mythal out of the picture for a time in order to stop, as Falon’Din put it ‘Her meddling in their affairs,’” Atisha continued. “But for this to work, Elgar’nan had to remove another from position to act against them.”

“Who?” Shianni asked.

Atisha looked at Dirthamen

“Me.” Dirthamen gave a small smile.


	23. Where Truth Lies

“You?” The word slipped from Hawen as a breath. “Why?”

“My abilities could have posed an issue for Elgar’nan as I could see through his lies and manipulations with ease. It is for this reason he had me removed so I could sway my siblings and niece against him.” A bitter laugh fell from Dirthamen. “Though, it was unlikely any of them would have listened to me over Elgar’nan.”

“Surely,” Shianni started.

Deshanna raised her hand, cutting off Shianni. “It is true our legends say Elgar’nan was the leader of the creators, but there had to have been something you could do.”

“There was and that is what I acted on.”

Hawen frowned.

Deshanna glanced towards the figure of Mythal still visible nearby. “Forgive me for asking this, but in our legends, you and Falon’Din are never far from one another. Yet, in all of my memory you’ve always been alone save for when you brought a child to the clan.” She turned back to Dirthamen.

Dirthamen’s eyes narrowed, gaze sliding from them to the ground.

“I can’t imagine Falon’Din without Dirthamen. At the same moment, I can’t imagine the man I’ve known most of my life with travel companions. What happened? Why isn’t he with you?”

“I,” Dirthamen started. He took a deep breath. His eyes narrowed further as he fought against the images coming to the forefront of the visions around them.

They shouldn’t know. They couldn’t know.

The images started to near, racing forward in time to his racing heart.

No.

Dirthamen closed his eyes.

They couldn’t see it.

His shame. The moment he had learned he couldn’t reach his twin through the web Elgar’nan had woven around him.

The world blacked around them.

Light leaked in through his eyelids. His eyes opened a slit. They were back in Deshanna’s aravel.

The others were stirring around him. Dirthamen glanced behind him to see Atisha was the first with her eyes open. A small frown pulled at her lips. Her gaze locked on him, brow furled.

Dirthamen gave her a small smile. It was all he could do to reassure her. Everything was fine. The group hadn’t seen the battle which had happened. Hawen only knew of it from his visit to the temple but not of the reasons it had happened. Or, the fact in the end the fight had been Dirthamen’s fault.

But why?

Dirthamen hadn’t chosen for Mythal to betray Elgar’nan that night. He had no more control over who his father was than Falon’Din did. If so then all of his siblings would have chosen Solas without hestation. Yet, Dirthamen didn’t want either as his father. Sure Solas hadn’t been a bad uncle, but Solas had – it didn’t matter. What was in the past in the past. There was no changing it.

A small, rattling breath escaped Dirthamen.

Or no desire to change it.

“What happened?” Shianni asked as she opened her eyes. Her hand dropped from Dirthamen as she glanced around the aravel.

Both Hawen and Deshanna removed their hands from him as well. They stepped back.

“Forgive me, Dirthamen, if the question upset you.” Deshanna bowed. The whites of her eyes were visible as a frame.

“It’s fine, Keeper,” Dirthamen assured her. “I would rather not discuss what happened between Falon’Din and myself.” His heart ached as he looked at the two keepers. “Besides we have ironbark we need to collect before the others return from Highever.”

“Of course.” Deshanna straightened. “If you could draw us a map to the location, I could send out a few warriors and hunters to gather it.”

“I have a better idea.” Dirthamen looked at his old friend, perhaps he didn’t have the right to call her such anymore. Not after all the lies, all the secrets he had kept from her. From all of his friends throughout his long life. Still, to be seen as a normal person… to not be placed as a god ever again.

Just like with who Dirthamen’s blood was, he couldn’t change what they knew nor would he. If the price of turning the tide was his friendship with Deshanna, Teren, and – he straightened against the stabbing pain in his heart – and Theon, then he had to accept it.

Deshanna frowned as she looked at him. Her eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

“I will lead you and Hawen there,” Dirthamen informed her. “As well as Alaula and any other the two of you wish to bring along.”

“No,” Deshanna shot down the idea, her hand sliced the air. Her eyes widened. “With respect, Dirthamen, but it would be for the best you remained here. You’re in no condition to hunt down ironbark.”

“If the two of you wish to see what I am capable of then this presents the best opportunity,” Dirthamen stated. “I will go with or without you, Keeper Deshanna.”

Atisha rubbed her eyes. She looked at the two keepers and Shianni. “It would be for the best we humor him before he does something drastic.”

Deshanna folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes flashed in the dim light of the aravel. Her gaze flickered away from Dirthamen. She bit her lip.

“Dirthamen,” Hawen stepped forward, “I understand you can’t die, but, please, we can’t risk you getting injured. The moment the clans are informed of who you really are they would protest to one such as yourself aiding us in such a manner.”

“I am quite capable of avoiding injury.”

“It’s too risky.” Deshanna shook her head.

Too risky? Dirthamen took a deep breath. “I assure you nothing will happen to me.”

Deshanna shifted. She glanced towards Hawen.

The other keeper closed his eyes. His white shifted as he bowed his head.

“Humor him,” Hamin stepped forward from where he had been guarding the door. “When he has his mind set on something it is next to impossible to change it. Besides,” – Hamin’s eyes narrowed – “if you don’t humor him he will stop time and leave to gather ironbark on his own. This way the two of you, myself, whoever you two choose to join us, and Alaula will be with him. We can ensure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Dirthamen cocked an eyebrow as he looked at his oldest son.

A small breath escaped Deshanna. She rubbed her eyes. “I don’t like this, but I dislike the thought of you going on your own far more. Hawen,” – she turned to her fellow keeper – “gather a warrior given Alaula is coming from my clan.”

Hawen frowned. “It would be wiser to take—”

Dirthamen held up his hand. “One warrior, Hamin, the two of you, and Alaula will be enough. We can’t leave the camp unguarded.”

“Very well.” Hawen bowed his head even as his gaze flickered away from Dirthamen. “I will find Nitsa then.”

“I’ll gather Alaula then,” Dirthamen informed them, “and meet you at the bonfire.” He looked at Shianni and smiled. “Would you mind leading the people while we gather the ironbark?”

“Of course, Shartan.” Shianni straightened. 

Dirthamen bowed his head. “ _Ma serannas, Hahren_ Shianni. Atisha will stay with you.” He turned to the two keepers and Hamin. “We’ll meet up in an hour.” After all, Deshanna wanted to speak with her crafters before they left. It wasn’t necessary and yet there would be no talking her out of it. 

He wasn’t Shartan to her or Hawen anymore. He wasn’t her friend or the savior from two thousand years ago. He was a creator, a god to them now. Showing them the past and a less chaotic version of what he saw had only reinforced this.

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” – Deshanna bowed – “it will give me time to speak with my clan.”

“Yes, we should send out the hunters to prepare for a feast,” Hawen decided.

Deshanna smiled. “We should.”

Dirthamen left the aravel. His heart sank. None of their plans were necessary. He was still the person they knew just with more history and more regrets than they had known before now.

A god? It was stretching what he could do. Inan, if he ever decided to use his abilities, could defeat Dirthamen with ease. Granted, his grandfather had access to all nine of their abilities.

“Hi’ya!” Inan cheered, appearing in a flash of golden light.

Dirthamen chuckled. “I feel as if you knew I was just thinking about you.”

“Oh, you were?” Inan blinked, pointing to himself. “My thanks, Little Secret, but you never need to think about me when I am here!” Inan twirled in the snow.

Butter bounced on his shoulder. She leapt down and shook herself. “ _Must you dance so. It’s disorienting_.”

“I’m just so happy to see my little grandson!”

“I take it you passed the assessment Teren set?”

“Yup!” Inan grinned. “It wasn’t too hard just asking questions and me having to guess modern names for plants as well as their uses. The uses were easy.”

“The modern names got you?” Dirthamen asked.

Inan slumped. “Elf root? Who calls it elf root?”

“Most societies, but humans were the one to give it its current name.”

“Well, it’s not a nice name. I get it. The leaves do look like pointed ears, but it’s not the root of the elvhen!” Inan hit his hand with a fist. “Ouch!”

Dirthamen chuckled.

“It’s not funny. It really hurt.”

Dirthamen smiled. “That wasn’t what I was laughing at, grandfather.”

“Eh?” Inan tilted his hand to one side.

Alaula was behind a nearby _aravel_.

Dirthamen took a deep breath. The frigid air wrapped around his lung, constricting them. He limped around the _aravel_.

“—get it, you’ll see!” a young man grinned as he looked at Alaula. “Then will you say ‘yes’?”

Alaula nodded.

“ _Ma serannas_ , Alaula. I swear by Mythal, I’ll make you happy.”

“To do that you might want to hunt to the east away from human roads,” Dirthamen informed the young man.

He stiffened. “S-Shartan.” He whipped around. “I didn’t – I mean, I shouldn’t—”

“You’re fine,” Dirthamen assured.

The boy nodded, eyes lighting up. “So, you’re not mad I’m pursuing Alaula.”

“Should I be?”

“No, of course not, sir! She’s the best and I will do anything to make her happy.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“I’ll go and return with the best pelt in the world. Nothing else would suffice.” The boy raced off.

“Are you certain he’s the one?” Dirthamen asked when the boy had left.

“I am, papa,” Alaula mumbled. “He’s louder than I am, but I think that’s a good thing.” She flushed. “He makes me happy when we hunt and eat together.”

“Then I’m happy for you both.”

“ _Ma serannas_ , papa.”

“I am too!” Inan cheered. “More little ones is great.”

Alaula’s face went bright red.

Inan clapped. “Oh, this will be wonderful. I’ll get to be a great-great grandfather!”

“What?” Alaula breathed.

Dirthamen cleared his throat. “Alaula, I need to speak with you before we join Keepers Deshanna and Hawen to look for ironbark.”

“What’s wrong, papa?” Alaula frowned.

“I’ll explain everything,” Dirthamen assured her. He turned to Inan.

“You want to talk to her alone?” Inan grinned. “On it!” He vanished in a soft flash of golden light.

“What the?” Alaula gaped where Inan had been moments before.

There would never be a point in trying to convince Inan to not use his abilities. To him they were no different than breathing and Dirthamen would rather not try to convince him otherwise. Besides, it wasn’t as if Dirthamen could just turn off his own curse. He would always be flooded with sights, sounds, feeling, smells, and tastes from the past present and future.

Alaula rubbed her eyes. “What did you want to talk about?”

Dirthamen gestured for her to follow him. He led her towards the edge of camp where they wouldn’t be overheard. “You became aware I was Shartan around the time the rest of the clan was informed,” Dirthamen started. His heart raced, faster and faster and it ached. His sight blurred.

The moments he couldn’t see the possible futures were when his emotions were blocking the moment from him. It was the only reason he had never been able to see Falon’Din’s actions. The betrayal had never been a surprise because once Falon’Din had left Elgar’nan Dirthamen had been made aware of it. Still…

“Was I upset of it?” Alaula asked. Her head tilted to one side. “No, I always knew you were different from the rest of the clan, papa. You were a member but not at the same time and you always wanted what was best for all of the People. It only followed you were Shartan after all.”

Dirthamen took a deep breath. He wheezed from the sharp, cold air. “That isn’t the first name I was given,” he informed his youngest.

The frown returned to Alaula. “It wasn’t?”

“No, I was born Dirth.”

“Dirth?” Her frown deepened. She blinked, eyes widening as the frown melted. “Dirth as in—” She leapt into the air. “Yes! I knew it, I knew it!”

Dirthamen frowned.

“You’re Dirthamen, right, papa?” Her eyes glittered, a smile lighting her face.

“I am,” Dirthamen confirmed. His heart slowed a little.

Alaula nodded, still grinning. “Ever since _Hahren_ Theon taught us about Dirthamen and how he,” – she laughed – “ _ir abelas_ , how you taught us about valuing family, I thought ‘that’s like my papa.’ As I grew older, I kept thinking, if Dirthamen was like anyone he would be like you, papa. Kind, caring, and always there for us, especially for children like myself.”

Dirthamen smiled. “ _Ma serannas_ , Alaula.”

She frowned. “So, the sentinels are yours then?”

“They are.”

“You reported Mythal bound hers to her, but I know you wouldn’t do that, papa. So,” she trailed off.

“How are they so loyal to me?” Dirthamen asked for her.

Alaula nodded.

“They’re your older brothers and sisters.”

“Yes! I have more siblings. _Ma serannas, ma serannas, ma seranna_ , papa. I always wanted more siblings!” She twirled a little, acting more like a kid than her normal quiet self. “Oh, can I join the sentinels as well then.”

“No,” Dirthamen shot down the idea.

“Why not?”

“The group was more Eth’s idea in order to stop the other seven from questioning me over why I didn’t have any. I would rather you have a wonderful life with the man you love.”

Alaula flushed. “Oh.”

Dirthamen placed his hand on her head. “He is a great man, Alaula.”

“I know.” She straightened. Her cheeks flushed. “I just…”

“I will always love you, _da’len_.”

Alaula smiled. “I know, papa.”


	24. Spirit and Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are moving to the weekends given I got a new job and my day off is no longer Friday.

A cold wind whispered over the camp to the bonfire. The chill seeped into Dirthamen despite the fire’s warmth. The camp bustled around him and Alaula. Hunters raced to retrieve their bows and warriors moved to exchange shifts guarding the camp.

“What could the feast be for?” a hunter asked as she raced after another of the group.

“Don’t know, but the keepers are sending most of us out. Only the warriors are being left to guard the camp really.”

“Must be important.”

Dirthamen winced.

“Are you cold, papa?”

“I’m fine, _ma serannas, da’len_.” This was ridiculous. There was no reason to send out every hunter.

“Atisha.” Dirthamen glanced at his other daughter who had been standing nearby.

“I’ll station the rest of the sentinels around the camp as guards.”

Dirthamen bowed his head. “ _Ma serannas_ , Atisha. We might not be attacked, but I would rather they didn’t focus on a feast of all things.”

Atisha grunted.

Alaula frowned. “They’re going to announce who you fully are tonight then?”

“They are.”

“It makes sense the keepers want to celebrate then.” Alaula’s eyes softened. “I know I do.”

Dirthamen’s gaze locked on the distant trees surrounding the camp.

Celebrate?

Yes, it did follow. There was so much to be done and little time to manage it all. Yet, the People should take the moments they could and his blood family, outside of Solas, would be a reason to celebrate. But to celebrate him?

The others, outside of Solas, would have leapt at the chance and reveled in the celebrations.

All Dirthamen had wanted was what he had before. To just be another of the People with nothing special about him. To walk among them as their equal and pass unnoticed.

Sure, Dirthamen never had this while among clan Lavellan and even Hawen’s clan had treated him as a normal outsider from a sister clan when he had been the Inquisitor. Now…

There was no being treated as one of the People ever again in their eyes.

He wasn’t the Inquisitor. He wasn’t Shartan. He wasn’t one of the People to them anymore.

No.

He was Dirthamen.

The soft crunching of snow trickled to Dirthamen through the sounds of chaos through the camp.

He opened his eyes.

The two craftmasters stood before him and Alaula.

“ _Aneth ara_ , Taniel,” – Dirthamen bowed his head to the woman; then the man – “Cleon.”

They bowed. “Keeper Deshanna just informed us,” Taniel whispered, “and made a request it would be my deepest honor to oblige.”

Cleon shifted. He didn’t straighten. “First to learn you, the Toy Maker, are Shartan, and now,” the words trailed as a breath. “To think a creator has been walking among my clan for centuries.”

Taniel stiffened. “If you would permit, we were asked to make certain Keeper Deshanna’s request will fit you, honored creator, Dirthamen.”

A passing hunter paused.

“Off with you,” Cleon barked. “You have a hunt to complete.”

The hunter raced off.

“Cleon,” Dirthamen started, “there is no need to retake measurements when you already have them.”

Cleon shifted. “Yes, but they are several years old.”

“And I have not changed in thousands of years.” Dirthamen gave the crafter a small smile.

This was all to try to pull Dirthamen away from going to collect the ironbark.

“Besides, the People are in need of ironbark far more than I am of new clothing.” Dirthamen looked between the two crafters. “The offer is a kind one; however, the materials should be used in the armor for the People. We are preparing for war after all.”

Taniel straightened. Her light blue eyes flashed. “Forgive me, but no.”

“We can’t leave a creator in rags no matter if we are preparing for war,” Cleon pointed out. “Even when you were only known as Shartan to us, it was a matter we weren’t taking lightly.”

A losing battle.

No matter what Dirthamen said there would be no dissuading them.

“Very well then,” Dirthamen bowed his head. “I will aid the keepers in gathering the ironbark no matter what Keeper Deshanna rather I see to. You have my measurements and thus no need of me, Craftermaster Cleon. Please continue to see to the task she has set for you both.”

“Very well.” Cleon bowed. His eyes half closed as he turned.

Taniel didn’t move. Her gaze remained locked on Dirthamen. Her jaw was set.

“I won’t be harmed,” Dirthamen assured the crafter, “and can be of aid to the People as more than just a figurehead.”

“You are more than just a figurehead,” Taniel argued. “You’re the Keeper of Secrets. Leave such tasks to your People. Trust us.”

“I do. I wish to prove the People can trust me in return.” Dirthamen held up his hand to stop Taniel or Cleon from speaking. “I am not trusted in the sense none of you seem to believe I can handle myself in the snow and be of aid to the People. Thus, I’ll aid the keepers in gathering ironbark.”

The soft crunching of snow cut through the new stillness of the camp.

A breath sounded.

“Keeper Deshanna,” Cleon greeted.

“Craftsmaster Cleon.” Deshanna nodded a greeting. Her sharp gaze moved to Dirthamen.

“We’re ready when Keeper Hawen comes with Nitsa,” Dirthamen informed her.

Her eyes narrowed, gaze flickering towards Cleon.

The crafter shifted.

“You should be aware Craftmaster Cleon already has my measurements, Keeper Deshanna,” Dirthamen pointed out. “There was never a need for me to go with them.”

“Very well. You two are free to continue with the task.” Deshanna nodded to the two crafters.

They returned her nod before moving off.

Cleon cast a glance back at Dirthamen. His gaze flickered away when they met Dirthamen’s.

“Tch.” Deshanna folded her arms across her chest. “You’re not going to budge on going with us, are you?”

Dirthamen’s brow rose. “There is no reason I should.”

Deshanna rubbed her eyes.

“ _Ir abelas_ we’re late,” Hawen greeted them as he approached with Nitsa.

The head warrior of Hawen’s clan held the reins of a hart. One of the two who had brought Dirthamen and Hawen to Dirthamen’s temple.

The hart stood tall as he was led over to Dirthamen.

“Given you’re going with us,” Hawen started, “I figured having a hart wouldn’t hurt.”

This was… Of course, they were worried. Dirthamen didn’t have the best breathing in the world. Still, he could handle walking. There was no need for them to go out of their way to have him on hart. Then there was the fact, a hart would make it easier on them.

“ _Ma serannas_ , Keeper Hawen, for the thought.”

“Papa, don’t you dare think you’re going to walk there instead.” Alaula stepped forward, her eyes flashing in much the same manner as Deshanna’s.

“We’d move faster if I was on the hart,” Dirthamen stated. “I’m not ignorant to this fact, _vda’len_.” Dirthamen shivered. It was the special treatment he wanted to avoid.

Deshanna relaxed. “ _Ma serannas_ for thinking about this, Hawen.”

Hawen bowed his head.

Dirthaemn stepped forward until he stood beside the hart. The distance was further than when trying to mount a horse as harts were massive. Dirthamen glanced towards the reins Hawen held. It would be easier to gain a grip to pull himself up with the reins. Then there was the fact either way, his bad leg would work against him.

There was a way it just would look far less than graceful in the mount. Especially if he fell, which was more likely to happen than naught.

“Allow me.” Hamin leapt onto the hart’s back.

The keeper’s stiffened.

Hamin held out his hand. “Father.”

Dirthamen took his hand.

The air nipped at Dirthamen as he was pulled onto the hart’s back. “Ma serannas, Hamin.”

“No trouble.” Hamin slid down from the harts back.

Fear landed on one antler and Deceit took the other.

“The ironbark is this way,” Dirthamen pointed into the forest given Hawen hadn’t passed him the reins.

Nitsa took point as they headed out of the camp. Silence blanketed the world the further they moved from the camp. It was broken only by the sound of feet and hooves against the snow. A soft sound whispered on the wind from the hunters spreading through the forest. Soon even these soft whispered sounds vanished.

“Head to the left,” Dirthamen instructed, breaking the still silence.

“It’s too quiet,” Fear complained. “One would think you’re trying to hunt prey not sylvan.” He shook his head, fluffing against the cold. “Your fears over Dirthamen staying, are delicious, but the silence is not.”

“I’m not leaving,” Dirthamen assured the two keepers. At least not until after Solas had come to his senses or the both of them were trapped. Inan would prove useful in helping Solas see the world as a good one instead of wanting to bring back their old world.  
A soft golden light flashed above.

“Ahhh!” _Thump_!

Snow flew up before them.

Nitsa stopped. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword.

“Inan, what are you doing?” Dirthamen chuckled.

Sure enough, his grandfather popped out of the snowbank. Snow was piled on his head and dusted his golden hair.

“Well, I was worried about you, Little Secret.” Inan stood and dusted off his robes and cape. “So, I was following in the sky. But then a tree came out of nowhere. Yup!” Inan nodded.

Deshanna and Hawen moved to flank Nitsa. Hawen pulled out his staff. Deshanna’s hand rested on her own.

“I knew we shouldn’t trust you,” Hawen growled. “You mean to stop us from gathering the ironbark.”

“What?” Inan tilted his head to the side.

“Calm down, Inan has no such plans, Keeper Hawen.” Dirthamen smiled. “In fact, his coming could provide useful.”

“It will!” Inan cheered. “Promise I won’t get in the way. Right, Butter?”

The spirit flicked her ear in response. “If you say so,” her voice echoed in Dirthamen’s mind.

“Butter,” Inan pouted. He slumped over, arms limp. 

Hawen didn’t back down.

Dirthamen sigh. His lungs strained. “If you must know, Inan is the sun in most of the myths surrounding Elgar’nan.”

“The sun?” Deshanna turned, frowning. Her eyes widened. “It can’t be.”

“Yes, he is my grandfather.”

“Your,” Deshanna started, eyes wide as her mouth opened.

“Grandfather?” Hawen finished, the word a breath.

“Hm.” Inan tilted his head to the side. “I guess we really don’t look much alike.” Inan nodded. “Little Secret does take more after his mother than father.” Inan clapped his hands together, grinning. “But he is my grandson!”

“But if he’s Dirthamen’s grandfather,” – Deshanna’s eyes widened further – “creators, you’re…”

“I’m what?” Inan pointed to himself.

“He is Solas’s and Elgar’nan’s father,” Dirthamen confirmed.

“His name is Nan,” Inan huffed. “Someone else added to it. Such a perfect name my dear Nalas picked too.”

“We should continue on.” Or it would be dark long before they returned to the camp. Though, this wouldn’t be a bad thing.

The group started off once more.

With it being dark they would then arrive too late for celebrations. Yet, it would still be a bad thing given Dirthamen’s lungs wouldn’t last long in the extreme cold. If he collapsed there would be no convincing the keepers to ever let him aid in battle again.

Inan hummed as he fell into step beside the hart.

Butter leapt from Inan’s shoulder and settled herself before Dirthamen on the hart.

“ _So much better_ ,” she purred and curled up before him.

“Butter! Don’t be rude. You apologize at once!”

“She’s fine,” Dirthamen assured. 

“Get it away!” Fear shrieked and took to the sky. “Get it away, get it away!”

“Her, and she’s not going after you, Fear.” Honestly – Dirthamen rubbed his eyes – why was Fear so frightened by Butter? Sure, she was stronger than Fear in the fact she was older than him and Deceit. Yet, Butter wasn’t one to start a fight. Tease them and chase them, but not fight them. Her teasing and chasing them was more to keep them in line than anything else.

“Why is he scared of a cat?” Nitsa asked, frowning.

“That isn’t a cat,” Fear snapped his beak.

“I have a name,” Butter spoke aloud for the first time. Her eye opened a slit. “I quite like the whimsy of Butter.”

“What the?” Nitsa jumped.

Hawen and Deshanna stared at the cat.

Inan hummed.

A soft smile appeared on Hamin’s face. “The three of you are shocked to hear her speak despite now hearing Fear?”

“Yes, well,” – Nitsa coughed – “it’s common knowledge Dirthamen bound two demons to himself and they are in the form of ravens.”

Deshanna bowed her head. “I assume you’re a demon bound to Inan?”

Butter stood. She arched her back in a stretch. “Demon? I am not like those two corrupted ones,” Butter stated as she flicked her tail in Fear’s direction. She settled on her haunches. She licked a paw and drew it over her eye and muzzle. “I am a spirit.”

“She’s a spirit of faith,” Dirthamen explained. “Really the first known spirit.”

“Yes, which is why we should fly far, far from that thing.” Fear’s feathers rose and he continued to fly feet from the hart. “Dirth, get it away!”

“My, you are quite tactful,” Butter purred. Her whiskers twitched. “Out of the two of us, you’re far more likely to harm Dirthamen than I.”

“What? Why would I harm him?” Fear demanded. “He’s my eternal meal, my ticket to eternity.”

“Your?” Deceit’s feathers rose. “Pardon, but it was my idea to feast on him.”

“What? No, it wasn’t. I was the one who pointed out he was alone and scared.”

“I think not. An oaf such as yourself could never have such a brilliant idea.” Deceit preened. 

“Enough, both of you.” There was no need for the others to hear this argument.

Fear snapped his beak.

Deceit tossed her head.

“Forgive me, they are prone to argument.” Dirthamen bowed his head to those from the Dalish, including his daughter who hadn’t uttered a word of shock.

“There is nothing to forgive.” Deshanna shook her head. The response was quick, far too quick. The word tinged with fear.

Dirthamen looked away from her.

Inan stopped humming. A frown pulled at his lips as he looked at Dirthamen out of the corner of his eye.

“Now, now, there is no need for that!” Inan cheered as he grinned at Deshanna.

Deshanna scowled.

“Come, come, he’s your friend, right? No need for changing such views because of a little secret.” Inan blinked. “Uh, big secret?”

“He’s—”

“We’re here,” Dirthamen cut off Deshanna. His heart flickered. No, he couldn’t keep hearing her call him a god, a creator. She had been one of his closest friends and inch by agonizing inch he was losing her as such.

“Corrupted ones!” Butter stood, her fur bristling. Her eyes were locked on the trees lining the narrow path through the forest. She leapt from the hart to Inan’s shoulder. “Inan, provide Dirthamen cover.”

“What?” Inan blinked. “No, no, I don’t fight.”

Butter’s whiskers twitched. “Not that kind of cover.”

“Oh, barriers. Yes, yes,” – he nodded – “barriers are doable.”

Dirthamen dismounted. He stumbled a little as he landed. “Leave the sylvan to me.” He limped so he stood level with Nitsa. 

Deshanna stepped forward. “Dirthamen,” she protested.

“I would like to show you what I can do. It will be far more believable if you witness it rather than my telling you.”

“I,” Hawen started.

“Fear, Deceit,” – Dirthamen lifted his arms. The two landed on each – “carry me.”


	25. One Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post chapters as they are completed until what’s going on in the world has passed. After it has, I will return to the first weekend of the month for this story. The updates however will continue in a pattern of: Dragon Age first, then Star Wars, then one or two Trinity Blood stories before going back to Dragon Age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if what Dirthamen is saying about the ironbark is true or not. There is very little lore over it outside of the fact it is formed where the Veil is thin and only fallen bark can be gathered.
> 
> And, yes, I finally named Hawen’s newish first and I guess Solas’s second in command given he’s always the one to give Solas information.

Wings ripped through Dirthamen’s back, sending a few pieces of his tattered clothing flying out behind him. Feathers grew to cover his mouth, his nails hardened elongating, and his hair grew out, tumbling down his back.

The world warmed as his skin stopped feeling the chill to come and what he had previously felt. Flavor left his mouth, the world stilled into the present. There was only the now, nothing of the past which plagued and future which hounded him, only the moment.

Dirthamen flipped the cane so he held it more like a sword. The Fade runes hung loose before straightening as energy raced through them, hardening them to make a makeshift sword. He drew his dagger. 

There was no holding back.

Dirthamen’s wings scattered snow as he took the air.

He shot towards the first sylvan.

Wood cracked.

Snow tumbled to the ground.

The sylvan straightened. It charged.

Dirthamen rolled in the air. Frigid air stung his exposed skin.

He breathed. The breath eased through him, light, untainted by the strain cold air should have brought.

Free.

“ _At least unleash your full power_ ,” Fear complained, voice echoing through Dirthamen’s mind. “ _It will make this fight over in heartbeats rather than dragging it out_.”

Dirthamen straightened. Each wing beat strained against the frozen, still air.

“ _This is exactly what you wanted, the wonderful feeling of pain not the weight of your full power_ ,” Deceit’s voice joined Fear’s. “ _No, there’s no need to unleash it_ ,” she taunted. “ _None at all, let those around you, parish and die_.”

“ _Prove to them you’re nothing more than a weakling who is only good as a protected figurehead_.”

They were just taunts. There was no point to the words Fear uttered from the depths of Dirthamen’s own heart. He could and would prove he was capable, not a figurehead and certainly not one to be protected.

Wood creaked.

Dirthamen gritted his teeth.

“Behind you!” Deshanna raced forward, Hawen on her heels.

They didn’t believe in his abilities. They didn’t trust Dirthamen could handle this.

Snow scattered as Dirthamen leapt into the air.

Wind grazed his back.

_Thud_!

A branch struck the ground. 

Snow fell from the nearby trees as a wave crashing onto a sandy beach.

He was utterly blind.

If he was injured…

But it was what the demons wanted. For him to give in to fear, to fall to their whispered lies. It was always like this. Always the taunting, the pain. 

The snow crumbled around the branch like arm as it was ripped from the ground.

Dirthamen flew higher.

“ _They will hold you down, keep you safe forever, no freedom, no light, only the god will remain_ ,” Fear taunted. 

Ignore him.

Dirthamen leveled out.

He could do this without the use of his abilities.

Ignore the fear.

“ _They no longer trust you. You’re not their friend, you’re barely Shartan anymore_ ,” Deceit joined her voice to Fear’s.

Ignore them.

Focus.

“ _Forget Mahvir_.”

“ _Silence_ ,” Dirthamen shot back to them through thought.

Energy surged through him. The demons cawed in pleasure. Their voices were drowned in the sheer roar of sound collapsing down upon Dirthamen through time itself. 

Time slowed, creeping to a halt.

Dirthamen flew forward. His wings slapped against stilled air. Each strained stroke akin to moving through slush rather than air. His blade sliced through the first sylvan.

Nothing happened.

Nothing fell or twitched.

Nothing could in still time.

Nothing but Dirthamen and—

“Whoa! No, no, no, this is bad!” Inan shouted. “Little Secret!” 

The air moved. It lashed against his skin as he moved through the air and time with speeds no eye could track. The magical blade of his cane sliced through another of the sylvan and another and another.

Dirthamen slowed himself, easing his body back into a normal time flow. 

Bark cracked and splintered. The heads of the sylvan tumbled down, crashing into the snow below.

The two keepers stumbled and skidded to a stop.

Dirthamen landed before them. His wings melted as Fear fell from him, followed by the white feathers from around his mouth as Deceit followed. Both demons caught themselves and flew over to the hart. They settled there.

Frozen air sank deep into Dirthamen’s lungs. He staggered a step only just catching himself with the cane. “There was no need for the two of you to worry,” he said with a small smile. The words strained.

Deshanna stared while Hawen blinked, mouth agape.

“The legends of them,” Deshanna started. The words seemed to catch in her throat. Her gaze locked on Dirthamen, unblinking, as she mouthed the rest of what she was trying to say.

“Yes, they literally carry me.” Dirthamen kept smiling, though soft, it hurt far more than if he had broken down weeping before the keepers. His heart weighed with the sight of her gaze, the owe.

Yet, this had been the only way.

Hadn’t it?

There was no other he had seen. Any other path and he would have been nothing more than a figurehead, someone to protect. It wasn’t their duty to protect him. It was his to protect his children. All of his people, his friends, as they were his family.

“Inan,” – Dirthamen turned to his grandfather – “if you’re willing, I would like your aid in creating more ironbark.”

Inan frowned, the corner of his lip almost sliding into a scowl before twitching back. “What is ironbark?”

“I’ll show you.” Dirthamen didn’t move, instead he looked to the two keepers, Nitsa, and Dirthamen’s two children. “Keeper Hawen, Keeper Deshanna, there are several trees here rich in ironbark. We should split up,” – he held up his hand to stop Deshanna’s protest – “but keep within sight of one another, especially of Nitsa, Alaula, and Hamin.”

Deshanna’s jaw clenched. She took a deep shuddering breath. “Very well, but at least take Hamin with you. No matter how capable you are, I would rather be certain you’re safe, Dirthamen.” She bowed to him.

“Very well,” Dirthamen conceded. He gestured for both his grandfather and son to follow him. Dirthamen started out across the small clearing. “Ironbark is formed where the Veil is thin,” Dirthamen informed them. “View it as normal bark we built with during Elvhenan.”

Hamin closed his eyes. “It makes sense, but the bark we used was infused with magic, it seeped into the very essence of the tree itself. The trees here don’t seem as strong.”

“They aren’t,” Dirthamen confessed. “Because while they grow where the Veil is thin, there is still a difference between being within the Fade or a realm infused with it and being here in the physical realm.”

“So, when compared to my own weapons and armor, no matter how much we gather it will still be inferior.” Hamin shook his head.

“It would make you and your siblings outside of Alaula the only ones who can fully match the fully awake sentinels of Mythal.” Dirthamen’s lip twitched. “And my own armor and weapons all which can stand against what Solas has.”

“Then,” Hamin started.

“Unless,” Dirthamen continued, “there was away without tearing down the Veil to infuse as much of the ironbark as we can, to strengthen it further.” 

“Oh!” Inan clapped. “That’s why you wanted me to come.” His smile faltered. “Little Secret, I won’t kill—”

“I realize what I ask is a lot, Grandfather.” Dirthamen stopped before one of the ironbark trees. “But, we would loss far more people.”

Inan’s eyes softened. “You fear the worst outcome,” the cheery note melted from Inan’s voice, turning it warm and a little sad. For a few heartbeats a serious, forlorn man replaced the image of the cheery goof Inan came off as. “All right!” Inan clapped. “For your children, then, Little Secret. And for opening Solas’s eyes to the truth.”

Inan lifted his hand. His eyes started to give off a golden glow as a golden light wrapped around the tree. A small click downed, followed by a flash of silver. One of his gauntlets fell, not making a sound as it hit the snow.

Dirthamen retrieved it.

The snow around Inan started to steam.

Light spread from one tree to the next until the grove was surrounded by the warmth of it. It seeped into the trees and spread even to the bark the keepers were collecting.

A shout echoed through the clearing.

Hawen had dropped the little he’d gathered. The two keepers stood, back to back.

Dirthamen lifted his hand.

The golden light was joined by a dark purple. The two intertwined, mingling together as his own cursed power seeped into the bark and spread from one tree to the next.

Air strained.

“Careful, don’t age them too far,” Inan warned.

Bark crackled and slid from the trees.

Dirthamen pulled back, shuddering as he released the trees. His hands shook even as he held out Inan’s gauntlet to him. “ _Ma serannas_ , Inan.”

Inan turned to him. His body was emitting a soft golden glow. So soft it barely lit the ground Inan stood on. Yet the snow still melted at his slightest touch.

Dirthamen gritted his teeth as his hand shook, trying to retain a grip on the gauntlet.

Inan’s hand wrapped around the gauntlet, his touch soft as his other hand went to Dirthamen’s chest.

“I don’t need sleep,” Dirthamen released the gauntlet even as he stepped back from Inan before his grandfather’s magic could wrap around him. “There is yet much to do.”

Inan’s brow furled and his eyes were pained. He replaced his gauntlet. “That should do it!” he cheered. The pain vanished, replaced by a radiant smile. “Now, all that’s left—” He clapped his hands together. All the bark flew out of the snow at once.

“What the?”

Dirthamen opened his infinity bag.

Inan flicked his wrist.

The bark flew into the bag.

“Let’s head back,” Dirthamen started as he turned, “those from Highever will be arriving any—” he staggered. His leg crumbled under him.

“Father!” Hamin caught him.

Dirthamen shook his head. The fog lifted a little. He glanced at Inan who hadn’t moved. It was just his body, then.

Just.

It was laughable. He had pushed himself past his current limit to prove he could fight, and this happened only after he had aged the trees to make them shed more bark. At least the fatigue had been kind enough to wait.

Dirthamen moved from Hamin’s grip. His legs shook and he placed all his weight on the cane. “—any moment,” he continued. He could rest later. There was the bark to return to the camp and so much more which needed to be seen to today.

Hamin closed his eyes. His head tilted as if the motion of Dirthamen standing had been a physical blow to his oldest.

“Hamin,” Dirthamen whispered the name with a strained breath.

“I’m fine.” Hamin straightened and escorted Dirthamen back across the clearing to the hart. He mounted the beast and pulled Dirthamen up before sliding down. His hand rested against Dirthamen’s leg.

Dirthamen couldn’t look at him. His heart ripped. The sign of his hand not moving too far from Dirthamen was a clear one.

The hart tilted as it started to move, its weight swaying from one side to the next in time to the gait. 

“Keepers,” Dirthamen broke the silence, “when we return to camp, there is a book among those brought from the temple which has methods of forging ironbark in sturdier weapons and armor than those currently made.”

Hawen turned. “Truly? But,” he trailed off.

“But I’m not June?” Dirthamen finished for him. “I would never claim the ability to crave outside of toys and instruments, forget crafting weapons and armor. No, June is far better at such things than I. This does mean I never researched it or studied his methods even if I couldn’t replicate what my younger brother was doing.”

“I’ll speak with _Hahren_ Evania and Theon over them looking through them for the book,” Deshanna stated.

“Or just have them reach into the bag and think about pulling out the book,” Dirthamen reminded her of the trick to the bags.

Deshanna nodded. “Very well.” 

A more peaceful silence fell over the group. It was broken only by the crunching of snow as they followed their own footprints back towards camp.

Dirthamen looked up, gaze lingering on the branches blanketed with snow. The peace of such a blanket covered the still forest. The sharp, painful tinge of the crisp scent on the air. Yet, such peace was ephemeral, a breath, a heartbeat before the chaos which was to come. 

This peace would only last until they returned to camp.

“Papa,” the silence shattered with a giggled word.

Dirthamen turned his gaze to Alaula.

“Your hair,” she stated as she touched one of the long strands.

Dirthamen smiled. “I’ll cut it when we return to camp.”

“With what?” Deshannaa asked as her eyes narrowed.

“A dagger,” Dirthamen replied. His lips twitched, but he couldn’t smile.

“Oh, no you don’t. If you want your haircut, we’ll do it the right way.”

Hawen nodded his agreement.

Inan laughed.

“A dagger works just fine,” Dirthamen defended. “I cut my hair that way for almost two thousand years.” His heart sank even before the words were out of his mouth.

Deshanna flinched and Hawen gaped.

“I doubt father had access to other means while on the road,” Hamin pointed out.

“Well, he’s not on the road anymore.” Deshanna shook her head as they emerged from the forest. “And I won’t have a creator in the care of my clan cutting his heart with a worn dagger.”

The dagger had been given to him by her. Dirthamen bit back pointing this out. It would only add salt to the wound. The ironbark dagger was beautiful, and Cleon had spent days on it. He had been so proud it was going to Dirthamen who had only known as Mahvir, the Toymaker back then. Yet, it had been one of his best works at the time. It had been an honor for Dirthamen to be the one to receive such a dagger. To call it “worn” was an insult to Cleon’s skill and the gift Dirthamen had loved receiving back then.

A group could be seen gathered by the bonfire. Given the hunters hadn’t returned, even without his sight, he knew it was the group from Highever and Shianni.

“This will have to wait.” Dirthamen slid from the hart. He leaned against as he landed, careful to land on his good leg. Hamin kept Dirthamen steady even if he had been careful about how he’d dismounted. “Those from Highever have arrived.”

The group made their way to where Shianni was waiting by the fire with the group from Highever.

“My apologies,” Dirthamen started with a bow of his head, “for not being here when you arrived.”

A man in the group grunted. “It’s fine. I heard you were gathering materials for the coming war.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m _Hahren_ Oldor. I guess you’re Shartan.”

“I am.” Dirthamen bowed his head. “Come, there is much to discuss.”

Dirthamen explained what their plan was, introduced Oldor to the two keepers, and also revealed one of his oldest names was Dirthamen to keep the man on the same page as the rest of the group’s leaders.

“Hmm.” Oldor rubbed his head. “I can’t say I’m too excited about following another claiming to be a god.”

“Claiming,” Hawen started.

Dirthamen held up his hand to stop the keeper.

“Yet, you are still Shartan and given the parts of the Chant coming out, it is clear you followed Andraste.” Oldor bowed his head before he turned his gaze on a few of his fellows. “It isn’t just my choice. What do you say?”

“He was the champion of the Maker’s Prophet, it is still better than following the other man,” a woman pointed out.

“And better than being beaten,” another added.

A few more murmured their agreement.

Dirhamen’s gaze locked on a young man who hadn’t. He stood towards the front of the group, leaning against an _aravel_ just in earshot of the conversation. His gaze snapped to Dirthamen as if sensing Dirthamen’s look.

The man’s eyes narrowed.

Dirthamen smiled and bowed his head to him.

“Keeper Deshanna, Keeper Hawen,” – a hunter moved towards them, leathers soaked from the hunt – “most of the hunting parties have returned. We’re only waiting on one hunter now who went to complete his solo hunt.”

“Very well.” Deshanna stood. “ _Hahren_ Oldor, it would be an honor if you and your people joined us for this feast. “You as well, _Hahren_ Shianni.” 

“I think we will.” Oldor stood. “Is there a place my people can settle.”

“We have few _aravels_ , but I spoke with a few of the clan on our way here and they’re willing to have others in their _aravels_. This way.” Hawen gestured for Oldor and his people to follow.

“Start preparing the catch for tonight,” Deshanna instructed the hunter. “I would like the food prepared before I make an announcement tonight.” Her features softened as she looked at the catch of the day. There were three rams. “Well done, Andruil most have smiled upon the hunt this day.”

“It will be done, Keeper Deshanna.” The hunter raced over to his fellows who were skinning the rams.

Deshanna turned to Dirthamen. “We should get you into your own _aravel_.”

“If there is one free, give it those who need it,” Dirthamen instructed. “We’re short on space as it is without trying to hand an _aravel_ to me once more. Besides, I have a feeling Teren wouldn’t be too happy if I left his care in winter.”

A small laugh escaped her. “You make a fair point and I admit you being close to a healer does make sense.” Deshanna bowed. “Very well, Dirthamen, I’ll see to letting others take the _aravel_ we set aside.”

The People hurried around the camp, preparing for the feast tonight. Dirthamen watched from the seat he’d taken by the bonfire, his back leg stretched out before him. A buzz of excited chatter filled the air. A few words leapt out at Dirthamen.

“Perhaps it’s to celebrate getting more people on our side?”

“Hmm, but then why didn’t we do this with the first group who joined, especially given both Lavellan and those from the city joined around the same time?” another asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s to honor a creator?” the one who asked this was the hunter who had passed when Dirthamen had been speaking with the two craft masters earlier.

The others gaped. “What?” one laughed. “All the creators were sealed away by Fen’Harel. If one wasn’t, surely they would have revealed themselves by now.”

The hunter shifted as he continued the work on the ram before him. “I heard Craft Master Cleon speaking with Shartan before the hunt,” he confessed. “Master Cleon called him Dirthamen.”

“Ha,” the other hunter snorted. “Shartan’s old, but he’s not that old. And, besides, the man can barely walk. I doubt Dirthamen would have such difficulties.”

“We’ll find out tonight what it’s over,” a female hunter stated. “You two should focus or we’ll never get everything done and learn what’s going on.”

The rest of the time passed with Dirthamen listening to the buzz of conversation. There was very little he could do to help. If he offered, even those who just knew him now as Shartan wouldn’t have let him aid them. Yet, he didn’t want to retreat into a warm aravel. The people were working, and he wanted to be among them even if he was sitting by the fire only good for watching as they bustled about preparing for the night.

Warm scents of cooking food filled the air and surrounded the camp. Hearth cakes were set out to bake by the fires while meat was smoked over it. Several traditional Dalish dishes were being prepared from what was left of the wild vegetables they had found before the first freeze.

Alaula had left some time ago when the young man had returned from his solo hunt with another ram. His face had been flushed from cold and a wide grin as he presented the ram to Deshanna.

All too soon the People were gathering around the main bonfire. Deshanna, Hawen, Shianni, Oldor, and Atisha had all arrived there as the leaders of the group. Dirthamen hadn’t moved from his spot since returning.

Deshanna and Hawen both stood and moved into the light so all the People could see them.

“Many of you have no doubt been wondering why Keeper Deshanna and I ordered every hunter out today,” Hawen started. “Early this morning, we learned one of the creators never abandoned our People. Rather, he chose to walk among us, hidden as one of us.”

“Clan Lavellan has known him since our founding as the Toymaker and many of you learned only a short time ago, he is Shartan,” Deshanna continued. “This morning, we learned his first name. The first name he was known as by our People.”

“We had been made aware three creators were still around,” Hawen continued, “when Dirthamen’s sentinels joined us. We learned from them it was unlikely the Keeper of Secrets had been imprisoned with the other six. He hadn’t been.”

“Shartan is Dirthamen,” Deshanna announced, grinning. “A creator has not only never left us but has worked tirelessly for centuries to aid his People as Shartan and more.” Deshanna gestured for Dirthamen to stand.

Dirthamen pulled himself to his feet by using the cane. He moved to stand beside Deshanna and Hawen.

“Tonight, we feast in his honor!” Deshanna spread her arms wide. “And tomorrow, we will spread the word among all clans Dirthamen is free and aiding in keeping our world safe from the Dread Wolf. All our People can unite under one of the eight noble creators!”

“A creator is free,” a collective breath moved through the two clans.

“This will change everything.” 

Movement caught Dirthamen’s eye.

The man from Highever had moved into the shadows of the surrounding _aravels_.

“Enjoy the feast,” Hawen finished.

Dirthamen returned to his seat. He would speak with the man later, for now he would be unable to leave unless…

“ _Deceit, create and illusion of me_.”

“ _Fine_.”

Dirthamen vanished from where he had been. He had only a few moments to do this before it was clear an illusion had taken his place.

The man was seated, hidden behind an _aravel_ where none could spot him from the crowd near the bonfire.

“Good evening,” Dirthamen greeted.

The man jumped. “What?” he stammered.

“If you would be so kind, I have a message for Solas,” Dirthamen continued, smiling at the young man.

“I don’t know what you’re—”

Dirthamen held up his hand. “Child, I am well aware Solas would send spies among those we gathered from Highever and I know you’re writing to him.” Dirthamen nodded to parchment the man held.

“What are you going to do?” growled the man. “Stop me from informing him of you.”

“On the contrary, I would like you to inform him of me. I would also like for you to stay.” Dirthamen smiled. “And while you’re among us, think on a matter of what kind of world you seek to build for yourself, for your People, and for the generations to come. Think on this and then think on what happened with the Inquisition and the last time a breach formed in the Veil.

“I’m not asking you to switch sides. Only to think about this.” Dirthamen bowed his head. “And to tell Solas, this world is worth saving.” Dirthamen turned. “When you return to the firelight, enjoy the feast, _da’len_.”

*~ Solas ~*

“My lord.”

Solas opened his eyes to see the camp spread out below the cliff he stood on. He took a deep breath of crisp morning air and turned. “Yes, _da’len_?”

“A message just arrived from one of the informants you sent to Highever.” The former first of Hawen’s clan held out a letter to Solas.

“ _Ma serannas_ , Avel.” Solas took the letter.

Solas returned his gaze to the camp even as he opened the letter. He froze as he read.

It couldn’t be. Yet, had he not pondered this before?

Dirthamen was awake.

He was free.


	26. The Slaves

“Lord Pavus.”

Dorian’s quill paused. “Yes?” he pressed the servant who’d entered his office.

The boy shifted. “We’ve found the slaves you were looking for.”

At long last. After months of searching they had finally found them. This would make good news to pass on to Mahvir.

“Where?”

“They’re both being put up for sale this afternoon.” The servant slipped a sheet of parchment onto the desk.

Damn.

It had been ages since his family had purchased slaves. This might be the only way to keep his promises to Mahvir on getting them back to their family.

Dorian rubbed his eyes.

It really was the only way.

“Thank you for informing me,” Dorian opened his eyes. “You may go.”

“Of course, my Lord.” The servant bowed low.

The door snapped shut behind the servant.

Dorian leaned back in his chair. Granted, there had never been an option open to him outside of purchasing the two. No matter the changes Dorian had made to his own family, slavery would persist in his homeland. It would take drastic changes to make slaves illegal to own and buy.

Dorian lifted the sheet. He winced. The cheap price scrawled across the sheet meant only one thing: illness or the slaves were close to death. There was no option. Dorian stood and crossed the room. He summoned one of the servants.

The boy returned to the room. 

“Head back to the slave market,” he told the boy, holding out a purse with the right amount and a little more for both slaves, “and purchases the two of them.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The boy bowed before he raced from the room. 

Dorian lifted the crystal. It glowed at his slightest touch. “Mahvir?” he asked.

There was a long pause. “Yes, Dorian?” Mahvir rasped. The sound was grating to the ears. This was becoming more and more common as if Mahvir couldn’t breathe well in the cold which plagued the south.

“I've gotten the location of the two you asked me to find,” Dorian informed his closest friend. He bit the inside of his mouth. There was no telling how Mahvir would react to this.

“I assume they’re up for sale?” Mahvir asked, speaking the words Dorian hadn’t wanted to.

“They are. And judging by the prices for them, they might not be in the best condition.”

Silence.

“Mahvir?”

“Forgive me, Dorian, I know my request is a selfish one and could tarnish what you’re seeking to achieve.”

“After all you’ve done for me,” – Dorian chuckled – “it only seems right I return the favor by getting those two out of harm. Or do you miss me so much you feel the need to apologize?” The joy melted from Dorian. “Besides, I’ve already sent a servant to retrieve the two of them.”

“My thanks, Dorian.” Mahvir’s voice shuddered. “It means a lot you looked for them and are getting them from harm. Valendrian will be happy to hear his son and daughter-in-law are safe.”

“I’ll bring both of them with me when we meet up for the reunion.”

“I look forward to it and seeing you again,” Mahvir teased.

Dorian smiled, his heart sinking. “Mahvir, I take it you’re still following Shartan.”

“There isn’t much of an alternative, Dorian. I would rather be with my clan than trying to destroy the world with Solas.”

Dorian closed his eyes. “Just be careful, my friend.”

“I will, _ma falon_ ,”

The crystal went dark as Dorian released it.

_Thud_! The crystal rolled a little as it struck the desk.

Even now, Mahvir still followed Shartan. Even now…

Dorian closed his eyes. Each breath was strained as if he had fallen deep into a freezing bath.

His eyes snapped open.

Strained?

That was the sound of Mahvir’s now all too familiar rasping. His breathing was strained.

But why?

The cold?

No. 

No. 

That couldn’t be it, could it?

Yet, then how was he having such breathing problems?

None of it made sense. Mahvir had never once strained to breathe. Not even in the coldest parts they traveled to it.

There was no denying the rasping sound of strained breaths.

The only way he would find out would be asking Mahvir. Yet, his friend didn’t seem too inclined to discuss himself or the man he was following. The false Shartan.

Dorian stood.

What mattered in the here and now wasn’t what was going on with Mahvir or why his friend was so closed off. It was preparing for the two to arrive.

Dorian ordered two baths to be drawn and asked for a warm meal to be prepared for the midday meal.

Dorian drummed his fingers against his desk, staring at the crystal. There was no point in pressing Mahvir for more answers. Yet, why? Why had he dodged the questions especially those about Shartan? Sure, the drawing pointed to them being connected. Yet, this didn’t explain much of anything.

A sharp knock jarred Dorian from his thoughts.

“Enter.”

The servant he’d sent to purchase the slaves entered the room. “It’s done,” he informed Dorian.

“Send them in.” Dorian straightened.

Two elves were led into the room. The first was old, his face hollow and lined. The second was a young woman, her skin drawn and eyes darting around the room.

The two bowed to him.

“There’s no need for that,” Dorian informed them. “The two of you will head to have a bath before joining me for the midday meal.”

They blinked and exchanged glances.

They were led from the room by the servant.

Who was the contact Mahvir had who was related to those two? Dorian shook his head and stood. It was a question to ask those two. Given how long they had been slaves, the only way they would have heard Mavhir’s name was if it slipped before them from their previous masters. He could just ask them if they had ever heard of Mahvir first.

Dorian waited in the dining room for the two to join him. Places had been set near the head of the table for the two of them. It would avoid having to shout across the room to hear them. Besides it was unlikely they had much voice left after so long as slaves.

The two entered a few minutes later, dressed in new clothes typically worn by his servants. It was really the only thing Dorian had that would fit the two of them.

“Please, sit,” Dorian kept his voice friendly as he gestured to the places next to him.

Valora shifted, her gaze locked on her feet.

Cyrion took a deep, shuddering breath before he stepped forward. He sat down in the chair next to Dorian.

Dorian smiled.

Valora sat down beside Cyrion, sitting on the edge of her seat.

Good.

“Neither of you are my slaves,” Dorian started as he served his plate.

Cyrion blinked and frowned.

Valora didn’t react.

“A friend of mine asked me a favor to find the both of you in order to rescue you from slavery for a contact of his,” Dorian explained. “I believe his contact is from the Denerim alienage.”

Cyrion’s eyes widened.

“Tell me, have either of you heard of a man named Mahvir?”

Valora gave a slight shake of her head.

“Mahvir?” Cyrion breathed the name, voice cracking. “He’s alive.”

“So, you know of the Inquisitor?”

“Inquisitor?” Cyrion frowned. “I,” he started.

“Continue,” Dorian pressed as gently as he continued.

“The only Mahvir I’ve heard about is my grandfather,” Cyrion confessed.

Grandfather? It had to be a different Mahvir. Yet, Dorian had no idea how common the name was for elves.

“Is Mahvir a common name?” Dorian asked.

“I don’t know about the Dalish,” Cyrion confessed, “but it isn’t in alienages.”

“Can you describe your grandfather?” Dorian asked.

Cyrion narrowed his eyes. “I met him only once at my wedding. He always appears young, around twenty-five but it’s his eyes I remember the most. Dark purple, black when shaded. He told me not to tell my father he’d dropped by.” Cyrion’s eyes narrowed. “Something about just wanting to see one of his grandkids and not drawing attention to the fact the _hahren_ had a father who never aged.” 

Dorian frowned. It sounded like the inquisitor. It also explained why nothing had changed about him even two years after Dorian had left the Inquisition. Still, to never age? By the looks of Cyrion, his grandfather would have to be well into his first century. 

To look young for a century would be a dream come true for many people.

Dorian pulled out the picture of Shartan he’d brought with him. “Is this him?” he slid the drawing over to Cyrion. His heart raced. It couldn’t be him. His friend wouldn’t have lied, not unless it was for a very good reason.

Cyrion looked at the image. He nodded. “Yes, only he had hair.”

Dorian’s blood turned to ice. The air seemed to freeze around him. 

Mahvir was Shartan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short. I fell behind this week.


	27. Dorian's Doubt

Dorian paced the length of his office. Each time he passed his desk, he glanced towards the dark crystal. There had to be a reason Mahvir had never told him. But what reason? Solas?

Yet, Solas had seemed more welcoming of other ancient elves. The man’s tone at the temple pointed to this much. Then why? Why had Mahvir of all people pretended to be only twenty-five? It didn’t make sense.

The only answers he could get were from Mahvir. Yet, Mahvir had never once shown interest in telling Dorian anything that was going on. Even if Dorian managed to get a straight answer from Mahvir, could he trust Mahvir’s word?

He had lied. There was no difference between himself and Solas. None whatsoever.

Dorian’s heart flickered.

Right?

There couldn’t have been a difference if both of them had lied so easily about being ancient elves. Worse still, Mahvir had a full backstory, jokes and tales from his time in his clan. The story he had told when all of them played cards together, it had sounded so real. Was it all a lie? Was everything he had ever told them a lie? Or just thinly veiled truths?

Dorian collapsed at his desk. He buried his head in his hands. An unreleased scream clawed at his throat and sank deep in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. His eyes burned.

_Vishante kaffas_! What was he to think, to believe?

Mahvir had been akin to a brother.

“You remind me of my twin,” the words echoed through Dorian’s mind. Mahvir stood before him close to the banister back at Skyhold. His dark eyes glittered, a small, almost pained smile on his face.

Dorian gasped and swallowed back the rising pain.

His finger brushed the crystal.

A soft glow came from it.

He gritted his teeth. “Amatus,” Dorian’s voice shook as he uttered the word.

“Hmm,” Bull’s gruff voice sounded a moment later. “What’s wrong, Kadan?”

Dorian explained everything he had learned about Shartan as well as learning Mahvir was Shartan.

“I don’t know what to think or do. He never seemed the type to,” Dorian trailed off.

“We all have our secrets, Kadan.”

Dorian gave a small snort at this. “Didn’t you just out and say you were a spy when you joined the Inquisition?”

“Yeah, but this is the boss we’re talking about, not me,” Bull reminded Dorian. “And certainly not Solas.”

Dorian stiffened. “How?”

Bull grunted. “It’s plain you’re worrying about the Boss being just like Solas. They’re different people, Kadan. No matter if they’re ancient elves or not.”

Bull had a point. Still… “I’ve asked him in the past what’s going, and he finally said when we meet face to face he would explain everything.”

“Then we meet him face to face.”

“But it’s just under a year—”

“Not then, now. Or do you want to mope around?”

“I’m not moping!” 

“Good. Then, I’ll meet you at the border in a few days.”

“Bull.”

“Nope, we’re going. I’ll contact the boss to get his location. The chargers and I can see you safely to wherever he’s at.”

“Bull,” Dorian tried again.

Bull grunted.

“I don’t think we should just confront him.”

“You’re overthinking it, Kadan. It’s simple, talk to him.”

Perhaps he was overthinking this. “Fine, I’ll meet you at the border.”

“Good. The chargers and I could use an easy job.”

Dorian’s lips twitched. “I’ll be certain to bring a little coin then.”

Bull laughed. “Hopefully more than just coin.”

The crystal darkened.

If nothing else came of this trip, it would at least be good to spend time with Bull.

The servants packed what Dorian and the two elves would need for the journey. Before too long, Dorian, two guards, a servant, and the two elves Mahvir had asked him to rescue were on the road towards the Nevarran border.

The only sound was armor clicking in rhythm to the beat of the horses’ hooves.

“Can you tell me anything about your grandfather?” Dorian asked, breaking the silence.

Cyrion frowned. “I only met him once,” he confessed. “The rest I only heard in stories from my father.”

“Go on,” Dorian pressed lightly.

“He worked as a servant to the Orlesian noble family in Denerim.” Cyrion frowned. “Father used to tell stories on how his father would manage staying out of the way of the nobles, a feat father told as difficult given they liked to beat him for being a cripple. Something about him slacking in his work.”

“Cripple?” Dorian frowned.

Mahvir was many things, but he wasn’t a cripple.

“Yes,” Cyrion continued. “From my understanding of it, grandfather’s left leg had been crushed and he never gained full use of it again. His left side also held burn scars.”

A chill crept over Dorian.

It shouldn’t have been shocking given Mahvir was Shartan and had been burned at the stake. Still, to think of Mahvir as anything but the man Dorian had known him to be. The man who had been light on his feet, a bull of dark armor and silver daggers in a fight… it was impossible to see him crippled and burned. 

Cyrion gave a small, hollow laugh.

“Yes?” Dorian asked, looking at the old elf.

“I,” – Cyrion dropped his gaze – “Sorry, my lord.”

“Please, what was the laugh for?” Dorian pressed, trying to be gentle.

Cyrion shifted. “I just remembered a story my father told me when I was child.”

“A story?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Go on.”

Cyrion shifted in the saddle. “One day my father came home with a shaft of wood and started to carve it with a worn knife we had for food. My siblings and I watched him until I asked what he was doing.” A small, ghostly smile appeared on Cyrion’s face. “He explained he was making a cane to replace the one he’d broken as a child.”

A cane? It would follow if Mahvir really was a cripple. What didn’t follow was how he had pulled off looking as if he weren’t as the Inquisitor. Mahvir had said it himself, he wasn’t a mage. He knew of magic and theories around its use but couldn’t harness it himself.

“My father had taken the old one and used it against the side of the house as if it were a sword. It had broken in two and grandfather couldn’t afford to replace it without them not being able to eat so he used a fallen branch in its place.” Cyrion gave a small laugh. “I believe the branch is what he used at my wedding as well.” 

None of this made sense.

There was no possible solution someone who could barely walk without a cane could do what the Inquisitor had done. So, how? How were they the same person.

Perhaps, Dorian had jumped to a conclusion and Mahvir really was just related to Shartan. His blood child or something like that. This would explain Mahvir’s unwillingness to talk about Shartan.

At the same moment, it didn’t make sense. None of this did.

Bull was right, Dorian needed to speak with Mahvir. It would be the only way he would understand what happened and who Shartan really was. Who Mahvir really was.

The rest of the trip to the border passed with little spoken.

The chargers were waiting just beyond the border off the side of the road. Iron Bull stood as Dorian’s group drew near.

“Kadan!” Bull grinned. He moved to stand beside Dorian’s horse.

“It’s been too—” Dorian’s words turned to a shout as Bull pulled him off the horse. “Amatus!” Dorian struggled in Bull’s arms to no avail.

Bull leaned over him, eyes shining with a grin on his handsome features. His lips touched Dorian’s.

Dorian froze as his eyes closed.

It had been far too long.

The kiss ended far too soon.

Bull set Dorian down.

Dorian smoothed his robes. “Did you get ahold of Mahvir?”

“No,” Bull confessed. “A friend of his had the crystal for some reason.”

A friend? “Who?”

“Theon, the man he used to talk about from time to time.”

It was the same man Dorian had heard in the background once before.

“He sounded older than I pictured him,” Bull stated.

Dorian smiled. “He did.” Dorian shoved the thought to the back of his mind. “Did Theon tell you where the group is?”

“They should be at the edge of the Frostback mountains on the Orlesian side by the time we cross the Waking Sea.” Bull nodded. “They’re planning on staying near the Frostbacks for a time.”

Dorian nodded. “Then we had best get going.” Before the elves decided to move again.

Dorian mounted his horse. His heart flickered. It wouldn’t be long before he saw Mahvir again. A part of him, a small part of him, wanted nothing more than to see his best friend again. Another, larger part, worried about everything. Everything he had learned about Mahvir or thought he had learned. There was no telling what the truth was and what the lies were.


End file.
